The Romulan War, Volume I - Jolly Rogers Productions

Transcription

STAR TREK
THE ROMULAN WAR
Volume I
A novel by
Stephen Fender
Edited by
Lynda Dietz
Published by
JRP
Jolly Rogers Productions
2
Star Trek: The Romulan War – Volume I
Star Trek: The Romulan War, Volume 1
Copyright © 2016 Stephen A. Fender
www.jollyrogersproductions.net
Seattle, WA.
First Edition: 2016
Published through Jolly Rogers Productions (JRP) ©, a subsidiary division of
StephenFender.com
All rights reserved.
Contact: [email protected]
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Cover art provided by Thomas Raube (Euderion.DeviantArt.com)
Star Trek © is a registered trademark of CBS. I’d like to personally thank CBS for
not shutting my project down.
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Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank the following individuals who backed the Kickstarter
campaign to get these books produced. Without each of them, this
would never have been possible.
Adam Lentz
Alan Massey
Alan Stevenson
Alexander J. Shepherd
Andrea Casamassima
Andrew Buse
Andrew Clark
Anthony Alan Fenton
Badbadtiger
Barbara Sach
Barry Charles
Bartley J Finn Jr
Benjamin Chee
Benjamin Waters
Blackmagicm66
Bob Griffing
Brian Okeefe
Brian Webber
Brittany Dudas
Carl Chambers
Carl Norman
Carolanne L
Catalino
Chad Bowden
Chand Svare Ghei
Charles Lewis
Chris Hunt
Chris Pinkerton
Chris R
Christopher Brandon
Christopher Broden
Christopher Sneeringer
Craftmom68
Craig Oliver
Kevin Gong
Lambert Chow
Larry J. Destefano
Lawrence Amrose
LB Nelson
Lee Horrocks
Lee W. Benjamin
Leigh Hennig
Lenore
Lisa Lyons
Luke Huitt
Marc Steinijans
Mark Donnelly
Mark Garland
Mark Newman
Mark Williams
Marlon Blaine Guillory
Martin Hirst
Mary Jane Hetzlein
Mathijs Leenheer
Matt Trinh
Matthew Luxa
Matthew Reynolds
Matthew Whiteacre
Michael
Michael Blanchard
Michael Bradford
Michael Hoffmann
Michael J Roche
Michael J. Medeiros
Michael Thompson
Mike Ks
Mike Medina
Mitch Webb
Crowe
Dakotasurfer
Dan Balkwill
Daniel Attard
Daniel Hippensteel
Daniel O'Connor
Darren Bavaro
Darren Keith
Dave Moon
David Baker
David Eberhard
David Gilmore
David Peterson
David Shuford
De Baisch
Dean B.
Diana Paprotny
Don & Karen Albares
Doug Eckhoff
Dragon's Den LLC
Dwayne Day
Ellis Coombs
Emanuel Levy
Eric Welsby
Erich Tauschmann
Erik Lee
Erin Grooms
Eron Wyngarde
Esteve T. Freitas
Eugene Alex
Floyd Dorsey
Fred Chavez
Fred Davis
Greg Rozier
Greg Thornton
Guy Mclimore
Hans De Wolf
Hugh Hog
Heiko Wisper
Ian H Weiger
Ianquest
Ivar Bardie
Jack
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Nicholas S. Shanayda
Nick Fajardo
Norman Jaffe
Pat H
Patricia Jaderborg
Paul Cordeiro
Paul J Fricault
Paul Janssens
Perrie Iles
Pyth0n
Raymond Utter
Reinhard Tlustos
Rich Chang
Richard Gable
Richard Todd
Richard Turner
Ricky Wright
Rob Beck
Robert Riddle
Rodney J Kelly
Rom Walton
Ron Walls
Ronald D. Hearn
Samuel Frederick
Santos Ramirez
Sarah Boots
Jason Genser
Scott Early
Scott Maynard
Scott Newell
Scott-Lee Nichol
Sfirestine
Simon Jaeckel
Sonia Koval
Sonja Thiede
Steve Dixon
Steve Hochberger
Steven Baker
Steven Butler
Steven Lord
Steven Pittman
Steven Rowley
Jake Pelletier
James Wood
Jamie Dent
Jamie Manley
Jarrod Frahm
Jasiha Welch
Jason Frisvold
Jeff Becker
Jeff Doubleday
Jeff Troutman
Jeffrey Harlan
Jim Heivilin
Jim Henderson
Jim Mcghee
Jim Mcleod
Jim Phillips
Jim Westbrook
John Canales
John Miles
John Moss
John O. Edgeworth
John P
John Romano
John Wenskovitch
Jonathan Crew
Jonathan Redden
Joshua M. Garrett
Judith Waidlich
Karen
Katie Keith
Kaze
Keavathediva
Keera Takamiyashiro
Kevin Clucas
Steven Stone
Steven Vicharelli
Sven Berglowe
Sven Proboszcz
Terri
Terri Connor
Tex Albritton
The Pink Phantom
Thijs Ter Horst
Thomas Mooney
Thomas Perry
Tim Aukett
Tim Knight
Tim Mushel
Tom Boucher
Tom Diffley
Tom Ericksen
Tom Martin
Tomas
Trashman
Treehugger
Trowby Brockman
Tyler Thomas
Tyson Dyck
Ulf Lundberg
Vernon Vincent
Vincent Baggio
Warren Rogers
WC
Wil Vargas
Will Stapleton
William Ching
William Vasich
Wofford
Special thanks to the following individuals for their contributions to this novel:
Bernd Schneider, Masao Okazaki, Dan Carlson, Allen Rolfes, Brendon Goodyear,
Jim Bob, the entire team of writers of Star Trek: The Role Playing Game (FASA), with
special mention to John Ford, Guy McLimore, John Theisen, David Tepool, Greg
Poehlein, the inspiring artwork of Dana Knutson and the other artists at FASA, and
to Jordan Weisman and the production staff at FASA for bestowing in me countless
fond memories.
8
Chapter 1
February 2151
Stardate 15102.5
The moment the shuttle’s landing pads made contact with the
surface of Romulus, a side hatch slid open, allowing an unwelcome
wave of heat to bathe the lone occupant standing in the now-open
doorway. Admiral Jeldan, recently promoted to supreme commander
of the Romulan Navy, winced at the uncomfortable onrush, but
displayed no other displeasure at both having been pulled from his
command ship, now in low orbit above the capital city of D’Sivas, nor
the litany of responsibilities his new post entailed. His dislike of
politics was second only to his general loathing of politicians, an
entire assembly of which waited his pending arrival. But it was not the
way of a Romulan to refuse to serve when they were called to do so,
especially when the new praetor was the one making the request.
And like any honorable Romulan, Jeldan had accepted his situation
with all the respect the council and the senate deserved. All that was
required of him now was the formality of the official ceremony. His
uniform, decorated with a multitude of awards representing a
lifetime of service in the Romulan Empire, had never felt as heavy as
it did this blistering day.
Stepping down from the shuttle, the fleet admiral was greeted by
no less than twenty centurions lining the pathway between the craft
and the entrance to the stadium-like Imperial Hall. As if acting with
one mind, the procession raised their right fists to their left breasts in
salute, arms held at perfect angles to the sweltering surface beneath
their feet. Returning the salute, the admiral sidestepped to the officer
on his right—his most valued and trusted first officer.
“Subcommander Nilor, it is pleasing to see you here at this event.”
Nilor’s eyes, continuing to stare off into the distance, did not meet
the admiral’s. “My commander sent for me.”
“It was not an order, my old friend. It was a request.”
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“When it comes from the supreme admiral of the fleet, there is no
difference between the two.”
If Nilor had been the only officer present, Jeldan would have offered
his lifelong friend a warm smile, and perhaps even a gentle hand
would have been placed on his shoulder as a sign of deep friendship.
But this was not the case, and the two officers who’d committed their
lives to the service of the empire knew their places well. “Of course,
Subcommander,” Jeldan replied. “You will accompany me to the
Imperial Hall?”
Nilor offered a second salute, followed by a sharp nod. “Sir.”
Leaving the honor guard behind, the two officers made their way
toward the great doors of the Imperial Senate. On each of the
immense wooden surfaces were engraved reliefs of the two great
heroes of Romulan culture—the grand statesman L’Deus on the left,
with the legendary female explorer S’Tanet on the right. To the left
of the doors stood the twelve-meter-tall statue of L’Deus himself, in
one hand holding the Great Paper known as the D’Vatta—the
document which centuries ago banded together the founding citystates into the Romulan Empire—and his other hand held aloft,
pointing the way to the Road to the Stars and the destiny of the
Romulan people: the Romulan Way.
Admiral Jeldan, like countless others who had passed this monolith,
stopped to regard the words inscribed beneath the ancient statue.
“We must join together or fail. We cannot reach our home, our destiny,
by fighting amongst ourselves. We are one. We must be one. Let us act
as one. To act any other way is to deny our children their right to the
stars that are theirs.”
From childhood, it was the duty of all Romulans to memorize the
inscription, and Jeldan had been no exception. The words were
etched into the very core of his soul as if they had been there since his
conception. They were as much a part of him as any of his physical
body. Bestowing the statue a final moment of silent respect, he
turned back to the great doors and the carving of S’Tanet—the first
Romulan to leave their homeworld and set foot on another, that of
their sister planet, Remus. It was she who’d placed the first paving
stones on the road to the stars, the route that would lead them to the
destiny set before them by those who had planted their race on
Romulus centuries ago—their Great Brothers.
And it had been a calling to the stars that the admiral had fully
embraced, taking the words of L’Deus and the courage of S’Tanet
with him into each conquest he’d claimed for the Romulan Empire.
How many worlds had it been? Twenty? Thirty? Jeldan had lost count.
And now he would be tasked with overseeing the future construction
of that ethereal road, never again to be the explorer or the conqueror,
never again to taste the sweet air of alien worlds, or revel in the glories
of a new adversary. Those were to be the accolades of other
commanders. The new praetor would surely see to that.
In a brief flash, the memories of the worlds he’d integrated into the
empire raced through his mind. Too rapid to take in all at once, he
tried to slow down the memories of the past, hoping with futility that
in this brief moment he could somehow alter the events that had
brought him here. But all too swiftly the doors to the Imperial Senate
slid slowly open, inexorably drawing the admiral and his first officer
inside like some great sea creature about feed. Taking in a deep
breath to clear his mind, Jeldan turned and nodded somberly to
Subcommander Nilor at his side. “It is time.”
Much to the fleet admiral’s delight, the promotion ceremony was
pleasantly short. After a brief speech by Praetor D’Varu, in which was
recounted the admiral’s long list of achievements, Admiral Jeldan had
replied by pledging a renewed loyalty to the Romulan people. After a
brief round of applause, the assembled senators from throughout the
empire took advantage of the moment and began to discuss the
affairs of their people.
To Jeldan, however, each discussion was little more than selfserving arguments thrown back and forth across the circular room
while Praetor D’Varu looked on quietly from his throne, his black eyes
fixing sternly on each representative as they took their turn to speak.
Praetor D’Varu had come to power only a short time ago, during a
coup that Admiral Jeldan had become aware of two months prior to
this day. The preceding regime had become—in many Romulans’
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eyes—weak and complacent with regard to the expansion of the
empire. Resources, scarce on Romulus and only slightly more
abundant on Remus, were in high demand by the people. Food
shortages in several major provinces had led to small revolts that,
while quickly and quietly quelled, had said much more than the
former praetor had wanted heard: his polices were ineffectual,
meaning his days in office were numbered.
The overthrow had come quickly during a particularly cold night.
Though Admiral Jeldan was unaware of the minor details of it, he
knew of several powerful senators who had backed D’Varu—the nowformer grand senator of the city-state Kanassarum—considered by
many to be the right hand of the former praetor himself. Many voices
in the old council had been forever silenced that night, in what was
now quietly described as the Coming of the New Dawn. And, as
swiftly as D’Varu had taken control, he had summoned Jeldan and a
large portion of the Romulan Navy back to the homeworld. As for
himself, Jeldan knew almost nothing of the new praetor except that
he favored expansionism. Nor did Jeldan understand why he had
been chosen among his peers for this highly coveted position. But
Jeldan was a loyal officer. It was not his place to question their leader,
whoever that might be today or tomorrow. His life was to serve the
people, and serve he would.
“For far too long have those on Romulus been hoarding supplies,
and you, Senator Sebib, are no exception!”
Those heated words, launched at Senator Sebib of Porta from the
senator representing the farming community of Adrennan on Remus,
drew Jeldan from his musings. Whether this was a quip at Sebib’s
abnormal girth or not, the effect was the same. Sebib’s round face
turned sour as he scowled at the Reman.
“How dare you accuse the province of Porta of hoarding! If anyone
here is guilty of needlessly stockpiling goods, it is you! Indeed, your
own vast storage compartments of dilithium and platinum are well
documented!”
But the Reman senator, whose name eluded Jeldan, was unfazed.
“And we have made those deposits open to all who are in need.”
“But only when such generosity suits the timing of your choosing,”
an unseen senator shouted in response, garnering a round of grunts
from several others in the council.
“Senators, please,” Praetor D’Varu implored calmly as he stepped
down from his dais. When had he stood up? The quarreling senators,
equally embarrassed at their failure to notice that the praetor had
risen from his throne, quickly silenced and sat. When all was quiet,
D’Varu’s voice lowered even further. “Now, that’s much better, I
think.”
Jeldan watched as the tall, muscular Romulan glided much more
effortlessly than his bulk should have allowed. When he’d reached the
circular floor of the chamber, Praetor D’Varu turned, taking in each of
the hundred faces of the Imperial Senate bearing down on him with
silent regard. His eyes locked with Jeldan’s and, for a moment, the
admiral could almost feel the leader of the Romulan people touching
his mind, sifting it, as if scanning it for signs of disloyalty. But the
moment faded as the praetor’s gaze moved inexorably to his next
target.
“The time for these debates has come to an end. It is time that we
close the book on the old ways, and usher in a new era for the
Romulan Empire. Long have we been squabbling amongst ourselves
for the meager resources we contain. Long have we had to make do
with the scraps left to us by the former administration, and long have
we endured those deprivations. And I tell you now . . . I will stand for
this no longer.”
In his periphery, Jeldan could see dozens of senators nod in
agreement. Others were motionless, hanging on what D’Varu would
say next. Others appeared to be taking mental notes—both those
who would later praise the leader’s words, and those who would later
dissect them and redefine every subtle nuance for their own political
gains.
“I will bring purpose back to the people,” D’Varu continued. “I will
make sure that the hungry are fed, that the needs for shelter are met,
that those dying in the streets and in our colonies far and wide have
the resources with which to combat the most basic of ailments that
are—even as we speak—bringing our brothers and sisters to their
knees with infirmity. We will once again be the mighty empire
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envisioned by our Great Brothers, and the Road to the Stars will be
paved in wonders beyond your wildest dreams.”
To this, even more senators nodded, and when a few began to
applaud, they were quickly joined by many more, until almost the
entire assembly was on their feet . . . Jeldan included. Minutes later,
when the noise had quieted, they once again took their seats. But in
that brief moment of silence punctuated only by the fluttering of
heavy diplomatic robes, one voice was heard across the vast hall.
“And how, Praetor, will you accomplish such a monumental feat?”
Jeldan and the others turned their attention toward the voice.
Jeldan knew the face well, as the two had spoken on many occasions
in the past. It was Grand Senator Orris of Biscae, the capital of Remus
and the headquarters of the Romulan Imperial Navy.
“Senator Orris,” Praetor D’Varu said with satisfaction, “I thought
you of all people might want to know that very thing. After all, you
were highly vocal in your . . . opinions of the previous administration.”
Orris, perhaps twice D’Varu’s age, had been a grand senator for the
last two decades, and a regional senator for many years before that.
Though not the most senior member of the council, his opinions were
often shared by many in the navy, so they tended to carry far more
weight than those of many of his contemporaries.
“I am a proud servant of the people, Praetor,” Orris said with a
subtle bow of his head. “As such, I know they have many weights
upon them that are not easily lifted.”
“And you doubt my sincerity?” D’Varu’s tone lacked menace, but
the connotation behind the words could hardly be described as
anything but.
“I merely wish a more detailed explanation of your proposal,
Praetor. No disrespect intended, of course.”
D’Varu smiled, as a sea serpent might before it devoured its prey.
“And you shall have it, Senator.” He then did another turn about the
assembly. “You all shall. I have every intention of expanding our
borders, and thus our holdings in this quadrant.”
“And where will we go?” Orris asked.
“Coreward, of course,” the praetor replied as if the answer should
have been obvious to all. “Reports have recently come in from Tal
Shiar operatives indicating that the Klingon menace is threatening
our holdings in that area. We will not stand for this. So not only will
we secure our installations there, we will continue with a colonization
effort into that region and beyond.”
The Tal Shiar. Admiral Jeldan had heard of them as well. The new
“internal intelligence division” set up by D’Varu not long after he’d
assumed control. It was a highly secretive group, made up of several
internal and external civilian and military organizations prior to the
Coming of the New Dawn. Now coalesced under one umbrella, the
Tal Shiar was the all-seeing, all-knowing intelligence arm of the new
government. That they had found something so quickly gave them
much credit, but trust was earned, not given away, and Jeldan had yet
to trust any spy he’d ever come in contact with.
“Surely we don’t have enough forces to wage a prolonged
campaign against the Klingons,” another senator objected.
Indeed they didn’t, Jeldan mused. The Romulan fleet, like much of
the empire, was low on manpower and materials. In order to enact
the praetor’s new initiatives, a great many vessels would need to be
shifted from other, less vital areas. Workable, it nonetheless would
leave a great deal of their holdings unprotected.
“We cannot sit idly by while our most distant forces are harassed,
ladies and gentlemen,” D’Varu again offered reassuringly. “Nor can
we continue with our expansion toward the outer rim. We’ve all but
exhausted our efforts in that direction with very little to show for our
troubles. No . . . If the Klingons are in a position to intimidate our
outlying systems, then they are in possession of resources we must
have. And have them we will.”
“Then we will move to vote on the measure,” Senator Orris
announced from across the room, gathering several voices of
approval.
But Jeldan already knew such debate would be futile. In fact, the
admiral had been contacted no less than a month ago, ordered to
divert several of his most powerful warships coreward. At the time,
he’d had no idea why such a move was necessary, but the order had
come from the new praetor himself. D’Varu, it seemed, would not
wait for popular opinion on his initiatives before he acted. A vote in
the negative would be quickly vetoed, overpowered by the weight of
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the praetor’s power—or the skillful use of some outdated clause
written into their laws decades or centuries ago.
“There will be no vote, senators,” D’Varu replied calmly. “The
answer is obvious. We must attack. I have already diverted a small
taskforce of warships to shore up our border installations, namely the
planet Cheron. Once their mission is complete, several colonial ships
will depart from there and they, in turn, will allow us to take root on
newly conquered worlds . . . another stepping stone on our Road to
the Stars, all thanks to Klingon aggressiveness.” Supremely satisfied
with his plans, the praetor stepped back to the dais and sat on his
throne. “All we need do now is sit back and await our commanders’
success reports.”
***
May 2151
Stardate 15105.17
“We’re ready to begin the transporter cycle, Commander. Where
should we put the debris?”
Subcommander Tisil, her tall, lean form hunched over the
engineering display, paid little attention to the centurion at her side.
Her thoughts were elsewhere: on the strange vessel she and a fellow
warbird commander had just destroyed, and on the small amount of
damage their warbird had incurred in the process. The starboard
nacelle was damaged, as was the accompanying engine module. Both
were still operational, but at reduced power. The other Romulan
vessel—perched 100 kilometers off Tisil’s starboard beam—was
undamaged.
“Commander?” the centurion repeated, albeit more cautiously this
time. It was unwise to interrupt the subcommander when her
attentions were in a different place, as the last centurion who’d been
reduced a step in rank for doing so would agree.
“Yes, Centurion,” Tisil said as she continued to stare into the scope,
adjusting a small dial on the side to better bring the digital image into
focus. “You were heard. Put the fragments in the shuttlebay. See to
it personally that they are not disturbed in any way. I will attend them
shortly.”
“Yes, Commander,” the young officer replied with a sharp salute,
and then was gone.
The more Tisil looked at the image, the more puzzled she became.
Over the last several weeks, her group had been tracking the
unknown target as it haphazardly made its way back and forth
between several star systems in adjacent sectors. It would leave one
for another, perhaps go to a third, sometimes double back and
sometimes do nothing. In her many years as a ship commander, and
in her handful of dealings with the Klingons, she’d never seen such
behavior before.
Puzzling.
It’d been quite a feat of subterfuge to get close enough to the
strange vessel for a visual scan. Hiding behind a small moon had been
Tisil’s idea, one that she was quite proud of. Not only did it protect her
vessel from the target’s scanners, it allowed her to choose the
moment where she would come out of hiding to perform her own
examinations. The second warbird acted as bait, drawing the strange
vessel off course at one point and giving Tisil the opportunity she
needed to get a detailed scan without being detected. It was those
reports she was going over now.
Even at extreme range, she could not say for certain that it was a
Klingon ship. Unless their long-hated stellar neighbors had drastically
changed their manufacturing techniques in recent years—which she
was almost certain they had not—the design was completely foreign
to her. The forward half of the ship was disc-shaped and raised
slightly in the center. Flanking this raised area, two long
protuberances jutted aft, the ends of those holding what was likely
the pylons for the vessel’s warp drive. Whoever had designed and
commissioned such a vessel had placed little to no thought of space
warfare behind it—a fact proven when the strange vessel attempted
to engage what should have been an obviously superior opponent.
The battle had lasted only a few minutes. It had started with the
target straying too close to the other warbird. Since she had no
intentions of letting the enemy report back to the Klingon high
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command, Tisil had authorized the patrolling warbird’s captain to
open fire on the delicate little vessel. The first plasma bolts had
damaged both its shields and power core simultaneously. The little
ship fought back—bravely, Tisil recalled, but still in utter futility. The
stranger was squarely outclassed on all fronts.
Signaling the other warbird, Tisil had conveyed her intentions to
destroy the target herself. After all, the mission was hers to
command, and it would not look well on her record to let another take
the glory of the kill. The other warbird had done well in damaging the
vessel, and Tisil had every intention of giving its commander proper
recognition in her log entry to fleet command.
As Tisil moved her warship closer, the wounded vessel let out what
was to be its final cry of anger. A spray of laser blasts struck Tisil’s
shields, and some form of magnetically accelerated rounds were
fired. It’d been those final two which had damaged her vessel to its
current state. Wanting to waste no more time on the hapless vessel,
she’d ordered a full barrage of plasma cannons and particle beams.
The target vessel broke apart in seconds, exploding moments later in
a somewhat lackluster detonation. Not long after, she’d ordered
debris taken aboard for study.
Flipping down the sensor screen, Subcommander Tisil slipped from
the bridge and down the three flights of steps that would take her to
the shuttle deck. Entering through the small air lock, she was greeted
by the centurion she’d ordered there a few minutes before. Several
large sections, perhaps eight or nine meters in length and half as high,
were being positioned in a grid that had been set up on the bay floor.
Each grid had a number associated with it, undoubtedly to be used to
catalog the pieces they now contained. Some pieces were cylindrical,
others were masses of twisted cabling and metal. In the far corner, a
section of interior corridor was noted, complete with what looked like
a nonfunctioning computer access terminal. Surely it would be a prize
worthy of some recognition.
“Centurion,” Tisil said to young officer, “have you seen anything of
major interest being brought in?”
“I believe so, Commander. Come and look at this.”
The two stepped around several sections of conduit and burned and
blackened hull plating, ending up on the far side of the debris field.
The centurion stopped at the side of a large piece of exterior hull
plating with some form of markings made on its surface.
“Serial numbers?” Tisil asked as she ran a delicate but powerful
hand over the scorched and warped surface.
“We believe so, Commander. Possibly the hull identification
number.”
Tisil hummed in contemplation as she continued rubbing the
surface of the symbols, trying to fathom their meaning. “Klingons
aren’t known to make such identification openly.” The first was a
series of three lines, two vertical and one diagonal, connecting the top
of the first to the bottom of the second. The second symbol consisted
of two opposing diagonal lines crossing over one another. There was
a small horizontal line next, followed by an ovoid, and then another
ovoid . . . except that the lower left portion of the final ovoid had been
cut out and moved so it could be joined to the other side of the shape,
practically bisecting it.
Curious. “We will need to get these fragments back to our outpost
in the Milos system,” Tisil said, rubbing the fragment one final time
before turning back to the centurion. “You will see to it that each of
these specimens is properly scanned and catalogued prior to our
arrival. I will want to upload these into the base computer for further
analysis.”
“Yes, Commander,” the centurion said with a raised salute.
“Then I will leave you to it.” As she turned abruptly, the sounds of
her thick-heeled boots tapping the metal deck were the only noise in
the cavernous compartment.
20
Chapter 2
August 2151
Stardate 15108.10
United Earth Space Probe Agency Headquarters, San Francisco,
Earth
“Admiral Walton?” the female voice chimed through the desktop
intercom, breaking Rom from his study of the ship schematics he was
poring over.
“Yes, Ruth,” he replied before taking a sip of his morning tea.
“Sir, Commodore Hirst has arrived and is waiting to see you.”
“Send him in, please.” A moment later, the dark-haired commodore
stepped into the fleet commander’s office. His uniform, like Rom’s,
was of the new design—black pants and boots, black fitted jacket
with command emblem patches on each shoulder, and golden
undershirt. Walton had approved the change only a month before,
removing the outmoded jumpsuits and similar types from use in favor
of the more comfortable and professional attire. The admiral’s jacket,
which he’d removed for the sake of casualness, was draped on the
chair behind him. As Commodore Hirst entered, however, Walton
stood and slipped it back on.
“Martin,” the admiral said, offering his friend a hand when it was
free. “It’s good to see you back in San Francisco.”
Hirst took the hand and shook it. “Thank you, sir. It’s good to be
home again.”
“And how are things progressing in Paris?”
Hirst smiled weakly, then reached to scratch an itch at the base of
his neck. “As well as could be expected, sir. There’s more delegates
and ambassadors there than you can shake a stick at. I’ve never seen
so many aliens in one place in my life. You wouldn’t believe the
logistical nightmare it’s been trying to ensure everyone’s safety. To
be honest, I was happy to be called back to headquarters, even if it’s
only for a few days.”
Walton smiled, then offered the commodore a chair on the opposite
side of the desk. Gliding back into his own, he reached for his tea once
more. “Still, there isn’t a better officer I could think of to head up our
new fleet intelligence arm.”
“For now,” Martin said with another smile. “Assuming everything
that the diplomats are working toward comes together without a
hitch.”
“Yes,” Walton smiled thinly. “The Federation.”
The sarcasm of the admiral’s tone wasn’t lost on the commodore.
“You don’t approve, sir?”
Walton sat in silent contemplation for a moment, but then
dismissed the thoughts with a wave of his hand. “Oh, I like it just fine,
Marty. It’s just that . . . well, it’s hard enough to protect Terran assets
as it is. The United Earth government is already pressed for resources,
and now we’re going to introduce our technology and internal
organizations to a litany of new cultures for practically the first time.
We’ll be melding our culture with theirs on worlds light-years away.”
He then laughed at the irony of Martin’s earlier statement. “If you
think logistics are bad now, wait until you have to submit a requisition
for personnel or supplies to an Andorian two parsecs away. Those
people are sticklers for the most minute details.”
Commodore Hirst smiled as he contemplated the idea. “Well, it’s
going to happen sooner than most would like. Once they’re finished
here on Earth, the delegation will move to the conference on the
planet Babel. After that, it’ll all be done. I have to say, I’m grateful for
it. We could use the help out in the border regions.”
Babel—the code name for the still highly classified location of the
conference. Even many in fleet command didn’t know its true name.
The two men present knew it, and even after their years of service and
friendship, Hirst was determined to keep it that way. Admiral Walton
smiled with approval. “By that I assume you’ve read the latest revision
from the delegates?”
Martin nodded. “If we can consolidate all the respective members’
starfaring fleets into a single entity, we’d be able to increase our
22
scientific capabilities tenfold. And that’s just from the Vulcan
perspective.”
“They have the knowledge and we have the ships,” Walton said as
he gazed into his lukewarm cup.
“And then there’s the Alpha Centaurians and their shipbuilding
capabilities.”
“And,” Walton countered, “the Andorians with their advanced
weapon technology.”
Hirst furrowed his brow, then leaned back into his chair. “The idea
of heavily arming starships has never been a palatable one to me. But
we need our captains to be able to defend themselves if necessary.”
“And that offensive technology would be available to all the
founding members, and anyone else the council wants to let join.”
Hirst could read between the lines. “You think one of the founders
could turn on us . . . use that new technology against us?”
Walton gave a slight shrug. “The only ones that really concern me,
Marty, are the Orions. Ever since the plague on Pluto, there’s been a
lot of opposition in fleet command about the Orions joining the new
coalition.”
“Even after two years?
“Over 200 people were killed, Commodore,” Walton said as he
gazed into Hirst’s eyes. “An entire research station had to be
abandoned . . . years of research lost . . . not to mention the combined
experience of the scientists who died. All because an Orion trader
thought he’d be sneaky and bring an unchecked trinket to the station
without first going through decontamination. And the results were
catastrophic.” Sighing, he turned to look out the window to the
sprawling park below. “Many in the admiralty believe this kind of
mentality to be rampant amongst the Orions. As such, they have no
place in the new government.”
“I take it you’re one of them?”
A wordless nod. “But that’s not for the Space Probe Agency to
decide. The politicians make the policy, Commodore. We just follow
it.” He swiveled his chair back in Hirst’s direction. “But until that
happens and we’re all one big fleet, it’s our job . . . yours and mine . . .
to ensure the protection of United Earth assets and personnel both
here and abroad. Period. That means keeping a watchful eye on not
only the Orions, but the Andorians . . . the Tellarites . . . and anyone
else foolhardy enough to try something stupid and risk the lives of
Earth citizens.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
Walton smiled, stood, and moved over to the large window
overlooking the length of Golden Gate Park lying several stories
below. “Now, I know you’ve been up to your neck in diplomatic
affairs, Marty, so I’m sure you wouldn’t mind putting all that nonsense
aside for a few minutes. I really need to know what’s going on out in
the frontier.”
“Yes, sir,” Hirst said, thankful the conversation was moving away
from politics. “But I’m afraid I don’t have much. Reports are taking a
long time to filter down. In fact, you may know just as much as I do at
this point.”
Walton nodded toward the view. “Let’s hear it anyway, Marty.”
Reaching into his jacket, the commodore withdrew a small
computer tablet and switched it on, a list of bullet points appearing
on the screen. The commodore wished it was shorter, and specifically
without the very last item. “A week ago we lost two more transports
out near the frontier.”
“That makes five so far in the last month.”
“Yes, sir. We still don’t know who to hold accountable at this point.
No trace of the missing vessels has been found.”
“Orions?” the admiral asked over his shoulder.
Hirst shrugged at the implication. “Possibly. That would at least
explain why we’ve been unable to locate any debris.”
“You think they’re hijacking the freighters for their cargo, then?”
“It’s a very distinct possibility. But we have no hard facts.”
“Hmm,” Rom murmured and then turned back to the window. “And
the council wants to make them members of the new Federation as
well.”
“Yes, sir. Not the greatest idea I’ve heard, but if we can get them to
accept the new laws and regulations, it’d be a heck of lot easier to
police their activities.”
24
“I have my doubts, Commodore, that they will both accept our laws
and willingly subject themselves to any authority other than their own
cartels.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything else?”
“We’ve also lost contact with one of our smaller settlements a few
sectors from where the transports were last seen.”
“Who?”
“Research Outpost Gamma, Kaph-42 system.”
“Kaph-42,” Walton said, an eyebrow cocked in surprise. “Pretty far
from Orion space. How long have they been out of contact?”
“A little over a week since their last report. Not alarming, but
definitely unusual. Add to the fact we’ve lost several ships in adjacent
sectors and you can see my concern. Due to their distance from the
nearest outpost, I’ve dispatched a frigate to investigate. She’s not the
most heavily armed, but certainly the fastest one available. We
should hear something within the next few days.”
“And our other supply ships in the area have been unmolested?”
“So far, but I think we should play it safe. I’d like to assign warships
to help protect our assets in the Kaph area during runs that will take
them close to the edge of controlled space. Aside from protection,
they’ve got the best sensors for detecting and reporting anything
they come in contact with.”
“Cruisers?” Walton asked with a raised eyebrow.
Hirst nodded as he rocked gently in the forgiving chair. “Daedalus
class, at least. Certainly not the . . .” he paused, but then continued
cautiously. “Well, not the NX class, anyway.”
News of the shortcomings of those experimental ships had steadily
increased as of late, and Admiral Walton himself had begun to have
serious misgivings about their future in the fleet. To be sure, some of
their technology was quite ingenious, with the warp five engine being
the most promising. But their design did have numerous inherent
flaws, ones that were now beginning to rear up the farther they were
pushed into unexplored territories. A few had been damaged in what
should have been very minor scuffles, with all of them requiring
lengthy yard periods of repairs due to their complexity. And then
there was the Avenger.
“Of course you’re right, Marty.” Walton nodded. “It seems we can
no longer afford the luxury of such experimental projects continuing
to sap our currently strained resources.”
“Yes, sir. For now, until we can get more ships and personnel, I’d
propose we move the NXs into a reserve capacity, away from the
outer system and closer to Earth or Vulcan space. We’ve got more
than enough Daedalus-class ships in our inventory we could
reactivate, and their large size gives them the ability to be upgraded
with more powerful sensors and a greater array of defensive
capabilities.”
“It may be better to simply decommission the NX as a group,” he
said pensively. “But I won’t be hasty. Let’s start by simply reassigning
them. And how soon could the upgraded Daedalus ships be ready?”
“The most conservative estimates are six months, with a few
showing ten to twelve months, given our current facilities. However,
if we were to pull some strings with the Andorians and use their
superior shipyards, we could cut those estimates in half.”
“I’ll put in a call to the president’s office and see what I can do before
they depart for Babel. I know it’s short notice, but I think she’ll agree
with your proposal, given our current situation on the frontier. For
now, we can upgrade the ships already in reserve at the Proxima
yards.” He then turned again to the view of the park below. “Is there
anything else?”
Hirst looked to his notes, wishing he had better news. “As of
yesterday, we’ve still not heard anything from the Avenger, sir.”
“That’s put her several weeks overdue,” the admiral replied quietly.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. We’re doing everything we can.”
Walton nodded. “I know you are, Marty. I know,” he said over his
shoulder, then turned back to the view. His thoughts were first of his
oldest niece—the captain of the NX-class ship, Erika Donaldson—but
were just as quickly replaced by that of her mother Jennifer, his eldest
sister. He knew he’d have to relay the same news to her. “Erika is a
more than capable commander,” he said after a long silence, “but
things like this happen in space. There are so many great unknowns
out there.”
26
“Yes, sir,” Commodore Hirst offered apologetically. “We’ve got two
more cruisers in the area, with three more vessels at Outpost 4. I could
. . .”
“No, Commodore. That won’t be necessary. Our fleet is already
spread thin as it is. To commit more vessels to the search would have
little effect. Who’s currently leading the search effort?”
“The cruiser Sao Paulo, sir. Captain Brian Webber’s ship.”
Walton knew the ship, but not the man. He made a mental note to
look up his service record later. “He has your full confidence?”
“Yes, sir. That and more. If the Avenger is out there, Webber will find
it.”
***
December 2151
Stardate 15112.26
“Captain’s log: unchanged. The Sao Paulo remains on course to
Sector 21-J, and there’s still no sign of the Avenger or her crew. We’re
passing near what appears to be a subspace disturbance which is
causing inconsistencies in our sensor reports. However, due to those
malfunctions, we can’t determine the exact nature of the disturbance
or how long our systems will be affected. First Officer Tlustos
reported a sensor contact with an unknown vessel approximately half
a parsec from our location, but the sensor image quickly faded, only
to return a few moments later. Is it the Avenger, or just the
disturbance out there playing tricks on our equipment? All attempts
at communication with the object have met with no reply.”
Captain Brian Webber leaned back in his chair, first glancing at the
stars streaming past on the main view screen, then over to his second
in command, Lieutenant Commander Reinhard Tlustos manning the
science station. “Status of the unknown vessel?”
“It’s just sitting there,” the science officer responded as he
continued to look to the readout display. “Still nothing more
definitive than that.”
“Communications?” Webber asked as he turned fully to his left.
Lieutenant Dan Balkwill was looking up at the subspace monitor
above his console while simultaneously turning the gain knob on his
panel, too engrossed in what he was doing to respond to Webber’s
request.
“Lieutenant Balkwill?” the captain asked a bit louder, so much so
that both the helm and navigation officers turned in unison toward
the communications station.
“I think . . . I think I’m getting something.”
Webber felt the muscles in his legs tighten, as if they knew before
he did that he was going to leap from the chair. Stepping over to the
metal railing encircling the bridge’s upper level, he gripped it gently,
his body on full alert. “Is it the Avenger?”
But Balkwill was back to studying the display. Webber looked up at
the screen above the science console, and seeing a number of high
frequency signals converge, surmised that the lieutenant was having
difficulty punching a hole through the disturbance off their starboard
quarter. Snapping his fingers, Webber didn’t need to turn to know
that he’d gotten his first officer’s attention. “Tlustos, can you increase
transmitter power?”
“Negative, sir. The circuits are already at their maximum capacity.
Any more amperage and the relays will fuse for sure.”
Damn. The Sao Paulo was one of the newest Hercules-class ships in
the fleet, an enlarged and improved sister ship to the older NX class
of vessels. She contained all her predecessor’s benefits with none of
their weaknesses, and even with her advanced sensor palette, was
still unable to open a communication channel through a simple spatial
disturbance. Come on! Let it be the Avenger.
“Something coming in now, sir,” Balkwill said as he cupped a hand
over the receiver in his ear. “A message . . .”
“Specifics?” Webber asked as he gripped the railing tighter.
“An emergency . . .?” Balkwill said quietly, almost to himself.
“Something about an explosion.”
Webber now had his chest against the railing, as if the proximity to
Balkwill alone would cause the message to leap into the his own ear.
28
“Confirmed!” Balkwill shouted, then turned to the captain. “United
Earth vessel is under attack, sir! They’re sending out a general distress
call.”
“Mr. Eckhoff,” Webber barked as he snapped his head toward the
helmsman. “Set a course for that vessel. Warp five!”
“No way we can go to maximum speed with that anomaly so close,”
Chief Engineer Jason Genser said from the station beside the main
viewer. “It’s already playing havoc with the warp coils. A warp
envelope of that magnitude will throw the engines completely off
balance.”
“And then we’ll be the ones send out the distress signal,” Webber
said in frustration. “Recommended speed?”
Jason didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Warp three, and not a microjoule
more.”
“Can we divert power to the defensive systems?”
“Negative. Not without further reducing our speed.”
The thought of racing into combat with an unknown enemy while
both the shields and weapons were offline was far from appealing.
But he needed to get his squadron of ships there, and quickly, before
the Avenger or whatever vessel was out there was destroyed.
“Balkwill, hail Captain Thompson on the Invictus. Inform him you’ve
picked up a United Earth distress signal. Advise him to take a
defensive position 500 kilometers above and astern of us and follow
us in.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Helm, get us there. Warp three.”
The closer the Sao Paulo got to the unnamed vessel in distress, the
more pronounced the subspace distortion was becoming. What had
begun as minor fluctuations in the ship’s internal systems was now
manifesting itself in waves of disturbance that were rocking the
cruiser like it was a bottle adrift on the ocean. The frigate Invictus was
still astern, but had fallen farther back, the victim of a rather
pronounced wave that caused her to momentarily reduce speed to
warp two. Whatever was out there waiting for Webber and his crew,
he’d now have to face it alone for at least twenty minutes.
“Dan, anything more from the Earth vessel?”
“Negative, sir. All communications are down.”
“A result of the spatial interference?” Captain Webber asked, daring
to hope against the odds.
“Yes, sir. I believe so.”
“Commander Tlustos, distance to target?”
“At present speed we’ll arrive in two minutes.”
“Recommend dropping to impulse, Captain,” Genser called from
the front of the bridge. “We’re getting dangerously close to a warp
imbalance.”
Balling his fist, Brian let it softly land on the armrest of his command
chair. “Understood. Helm, comply and drop to sublight velocity.”
The ship lurched, rocking Webber and the rest slowly forward as the
inertial dampeners acted quickly—but not rapidly enough—to
compensate for the drastic reduction in speed.
“Can we divert power to defensive systems yet?”
“Aye,” Genser said, then turn to nod at the helm officer.
“Charging laser capacitors now, sir,” Doug Eckhoff said as he
quickly pressed at the controls before him.
“Shields, Lieutenant?”
Lieutenant Eckhoff rapidly pressed the same sequence of controls
twice in frustration. “Defensive screens are operating at only sixty
percent, sir.”
“Must be an overload somewhere,” Genser said as he stepped out
of his chair and headed for the port side turbo elevator. “Permission
to leave the bridge, sir?”
“Do what you need to in order to get those screens up to maximum,
Chief,” the captain said, then dismissed the engineer with a thumb
hooked toward the turbo elevator doors.
“Sensors clearing up slightly, sir.”
Webber turned to Commander Tlustos, stepping from his chair and
bounding to the upper level of the bridge. “What can you see?”
“Definitely an Earth-type vessel out there, sir. Two of them, in fact,”
the science officer said while peering into his display.
Two? But the Avenger was supposed to be on patrol by herself. “I
need you to be more specific, Commander. I want type, hull
designations, complements, status of life support, and what they
served for lunch this afternoon, and I want it all now.”
30
“Coming into visual range now.”
“On screen.”
“Switching,” the science officer said, reached for a control, and
turned to look at the enlarged image on the view screen.
Although at extreme range, the silhouettes of two Earth-type
vessels were clearly visible on the monitor. Webber could see the
long, cylindrical central hull, and the two warp pylons jutting from
either side of it. Forward of the central hull, a command bubble was
attached via a stubby neck. Not the Avenger, but definitely a United
Earth vessel. Possibly a transport.
“Hull identification shows the closest vessel to be the SS Amaretto,”
Tlustos offered.
“And the distant one?”
“The SS Pride of Jupiter, Captain.”
“What do the library computers have on them?”
Reinhard slipped back into his chair, switched on the two small
monitors to his right, and entered the requested query into the
keyboard. In the time it took to retrieve the information, the Sao
Paulo had closed enough distance to get a crisp picture of the
Amaretto on the screen. One of the warp nacelles had been ripped in
two, and there were burnt and twisted hull plates along both port and
starboard sides of the central hull.
“Database shows that the Amaretto and the Pride of Jupiter, both
Watt-class commercial freighters, are owned and operated by the
Leeper-Fell Universal Corporation of Earth. They’re a logistics
company, handling everything from foodstuffs to top-level
government contracts dealing with the shipment of high-technology
items.”
The Watt class: a twenty-year-old design that was incapable of
being upgraded beyond their second-generation warp propulsion
system. Capable of carrying over 80,000 metric tons of cargo, they
were often found in large numbers running between local star
systems. That they had strayed so far from anything habitable was
disturbing. “What are they doing out here on the frontier?” Webber
asked the wrecked image of the vessel on the viewer, as much to his
first officer as to himself.
“I can’t say. Our ship’s database doesn’t have the specifics, and
we’re too far distant from the nearest Earth outpost to query the
United Earth Information Net.”
“Not that I could get through this subspace interference if I wanted
to,” Balkwill said from the communications station. “Sensors may
work well enough, but communications are solidly out.”
Chief Engineer Genser’s voice came through the speakers over
Webber’s chair. “Bridge, this is engineering.”
“Go ahead, Chief.”
“Defensive screens should be up to 100 percent now.”
“Lieutenant Eckhoff?”
The young helm officer looked briefly at his control, then turned
and nodded. “Confirmed, sir.”
“Well done, Chief. Care to tell me what the problem was?”
“Maybe later. I haven’t got all the answers yet myself. I’ll give you a
full briefing when I do.”
Webber studied the image of the damaged Amaretto for a moment
longer, contemplating his next move. “Is there enough available
power for a transporter beam?”
“Yes, but you’ll have to lower the shields,” Genser replied
hesitantly. “And since I’m not sure exactly which circuits caused the
prior malfunction, we may very well not get them back.”
“Life signs?” Webber asked in a subdued voice to his first officer.
“Possibly.”
Nodding, Webber turned back to the main viewer. “We’ll have to
chance it, Chief.”
“Understood.”
“Meet me in the transporter room in five minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” Genser replied before signing off.
“Dan, call down to ship’s security. I want two officers in the
transporter room, fully equipped for hostile action. And get the ship's
doctor as well. When you’re done, try and get a message over to the
Invictus and tell them what’s going on. Tie two cups to a string if you
have to, but get Captain Thompson up to speed.”
“Aye.”
“You think whoever did this is still on board?” Tlustos asked from
the science station.
32
“I don’t know. But we need to do more than just sit around and wait
for these subspace distortions to get worse. I want you to keep a close
eye on those sensors. If there’re any hostile vessels hiding out there,
they may come back to finish what they started.” He then turned to
the helmsman. “Mr. Eckhoff, the ship is yours.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter 3
When the boarding party from the Sao Paulo had finished the
transporter materialization process, they’d breathed a collective sigh
of relief. The transporter—not widely used for biological transport—
was far from a trusted piece of equipment. Accidents during the
beaming process were not uncommon, sometimes with benign
results—sometimes disastrous. And with the subspace distortions
beyond the hull growing worse, Captain Webber knew he was
tempting fate by using the device.
“Is everyone all right?”
The party looked over themselves, then one another, each giving
the captain a nod in turn. The ship’s doctor, Lieutenant Commander
Lisa Lyons, was the last to give her confirmation. She ran an unsteady
hand through her dark hair before giving the captain a weak smile. A
groaning sound from the overhead drew all eyes toward it, and it was
then that Webber and his team noticed the state of the vessel.
They had materialized several compartments aft of the command
center, in the central connecting structure located one deck above
the engine room that joined the port and starboard cargo modules.
Although gravity and life support were still functioning, a deep inhale
from Webber confirmed that the air was thin. This was confirmed by
Dr. Lyons a moment later.
“Moderate concentrations of carbon monoxide and carbon
dioxide,” she said while looking at her humming, beeping tricorder.
“There’s also trace particles of vaporized plastisteel and
molybdenum.”
“That’s suggestive of a hull rupture nearby,” Chief Engineer Genser
said from behind the team. “I’ll know more if I can get to the engine
room.”
Captain Webber agreed. “Go, but take a security officer with you.”
“Captain, I wouldn’t suggest we stay in this environment long,” the
doctor said before Genser turned to leave. “If the air quality gets
much worse we could begin suffering from asphyxiation.”
“Understood. Jason, make it quick. Take a few minutes and see if
you can stabilize the life-support system while you’re down there. If
34
you can’t, get as much data as you can on the integrity of the vessel
and meet us in the control room in ten minutes.”
“Aye, sir,” the engineer replied, then headed down an aft
passageway with his security escort in tow.
“Any life readings, Doctor?”
Lisa looked to her palm-sized instrument once more, waving it
around the dimly lit corridor in a full circle. “Strong readings in this
direction,” she said as she pointed the device down the path toward
the vessel’s control room.
“Berthing areas are in that direction as well, sir,” the remaining
security officer said.
“Let’s go. We don’t have much time.”
Making their way down the corridor, the vessel continued to creak
and moan in a slow, agonized fashion. Along the way, the team noted
a number of half-open doors, each one an opening into a darkened
compartment. One of them, the crew lounge, contained a number of
bodies placed on top of the dining tables.
“They must have used this compartment for a makeshift infirmary,”
the doctor offered while examining a dead Tellarite.
“As I recall, this class has no sickbay,” Webber said as he stood near
another body—that of a dead human. The man’s chest had been
severely burned, the result of what looked like a console explosion.
Looking around the compartment once more, the doctor holstered
her tricorder. “They all appear to have died as a result of severe
trauma—consistent with the damage we’ve seen to the vessel.”
Leaving the lounge, they made their way to the Amaretto’s control
center on the port side of the ship. The security officer entered first,
his laser pistol at the ready. Giving the compartment a quick
inspection, he motioned for the captain and the doctor to enter. The
control center was shaped like a quadrilateral, with two joined
consoles on the angles on the port side bulkhead, and two more on
the aft bulkhead to the team’s left. Incapacitated crewmen were
manning three of the stations, with the forwardmost consoles a mess
of burnt optics and blown-out monitors. On the forward wall hung a
row of static-filled monitors above a transparent view port that took
up the majority of the wall. Two large cracks extended from the lower
left corner as they raced one another to the top right.
“That view port isn’t going to hold out,” Webber said as he nodded
toward the damaged window.
“These two are dead,” the doctor said of the crewmen at the aft
stations, then moved quickly to the remaining person. “This one’s
alive, but unconscious.”
Looking over the slumped form at the console, Webber surmised
that it was the Amaretto’s helmsman. “Can you do anything for him
here?”
Withdrawing her medical kit, Lisa held the gun-like hypo sprayer to
the wounded man’s shoulder and administered a sedative. “I can
stabilize him, but we’ll need to get him back to the Sao Paulo right
away if there’s going to be any chance of survival.”
“Captain,” the voice of Jason Genser called out a moment before he
stepped through the open doorway. “Every main relay is fused, and
the auxiliary controls are a pile of junk. Whatever damaged this
vessel, it seems to have taken all the systems offline at the same
moment.”
“Did you find any more crewmen alive down there, Chief?”
“No, sir, but I did notice something odd.”
“What is it?”
“It’s the cargo holds. I made a cursory inspection on our way back
up. They’re still fully loaded.”
“Maybe whoever did this didn’t have time to unload the contents of
the holds.”
But Genser was unconvinced. “Everything I’ve found indicates this
vessel was without power for nearly forty minutes before we arrived.
That’s more than enough time to get someone over here to plunder
the holds. From the state of the magnetic locks on the containers, not
one of them has been tampered with.”
“You’re suggesting that whoever did this wasn’t after the cargo?”
Jason nodded. “It looks like that way, sir.”
Lisa scanned the crewman, seeing with approval the sedative she’d
administered had begun to take effect. “Then why attack a freighter?
It doesn’t make any sense.”
36
“I agree, but we can’t stay here to find out. We’ve got to get back to
the Sao Paulo before the Amaretto breaks up entirely.” Webber then
turned to the cracked view port, deducing that the damage appeared
to have gotten steadily worse in the last few moments. “Let’s get out
of here. Jason, grab the injured crewman. Security, I want you to
secure the door to the control center once we’re all out.”
Back in the passageway, the two security officers pried the door to
the control center closed, then quickly welded it shut with finely
tuned beams from their sidearms. Unclipping his communicator,
Webber attempted to raise the Sao Paulo, but was met with static.
Trying in vain to tune the device, he was met with failure time and
again. A series of structural groans from somewhere in the distance
drew his attention from the device. There was a brief moment of
silence, then the floor under their feet shuddered violently, threating
to knock them to the deck. Turning his head toward the control room,
Webber and Genser could see that the recently welded door had
begun to bow inward. The view port must have given way.
“That weld isn’t going to hold for very long. Options, people!”
“The cargo pods,” Genser replied quickly. “The starboard one is
undamaged. They’ve got independent emergency life-support
systems that function on battery power if they become detached
from the vessel during crises.”
“How long will that give us?” Dr. Lyons asked nervously from the
captain’s side.
“Longer than this ship is going to. Jason, lead the way.”
Two minutes later the boarding team and the still-unconscious
crewman from the control room were huddled in the alreadycramped cargo hold. Containers were stacked up to the overhead in
most places, but an elongated crate with nothing above it had
provided just enough space for the team to curl up on. At the door
controls, Genser sealed the hatch and turned on the cargo pod’s
emergency life support.
A T-shaped handle slowly slid from an alcove on the side of the
panel, which Genser gripped with one hand, turning his head to speak
over his shoulder. “Ready to detach, sir.”
Putting a steadying arm around Dr. Lyons, Webber noted that the
two security officers were holding fast to the unconscious man
between them. “Do it, Chief. Detach!”
As he pulled down hard on the handle, the pod’s artificial gravity
was slow in response to the new configuration, and the team was
tossed hard to forward as the small thrusters in the pod’s docking
clamps pushed it away from the dying Amaretto.
The bridge officers on the Sao Paulo watched the unfolding scene
before them in horror. Without warning, the Amaretto cracked into a
half-dozen pieces, spewing sparks and lesser pieces of debris in a
hundred directions at the same moment. The fragments twisted and
turned about one another, leisurely distancing themselves from one
another in the process.
“My god,” Lieutenant Doug Eckhoff breathed from the central
command chair. “Are there any life signs in the wreckage?” he
hurriedly asked the science officer.
“I still can’t be certain,” Tlustos said from his console. “However,
there’s only one large fragment that’s still registering power
readings.”
“Large enough to hold survivors?”
Reinhard turned back to the small monitor, scanning the readouts
intently. “It looks like it’s one of the cargo modules.”
“Transporters?” Eckhoff asked.
“Negative. The spatial disturbance outside would scatter any beam
at this point. Besides, the object itself is too big for even the cargo
transporter.”
Eckhoff pivoted his chair toward the ship’s executive officer. “Will it
fit in the shuttlebay?”
“It should, but just barely. However, because the debris is in free
flight, there’s no way for the Sao Paulo’s computer to guide it into the
bay.”
Eckhoff nodded, then looked to the tumbling fragment on the
screen. “Then we’ll have to do it manually.”
“Meaning what?” Tlustos chuckled. “You just going to back up and
scoop it into the bay or something?”
Doug nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
38
“How?”
“Get us into position about 200 meters ahead of it. Depressurize the
bay and guide the ship astern nice and slow. We envelope the thing,”
he said, using his hands to symbolize the doors. He then clapped
them shut. “Then we close the doors and slowly pressurize the
compartment. Easy.”
“If that debris hits the side of the ship in the process, we won’t be
able to pressurize the bay or even close the doors. Not to mention the
fact that that pod is already damaged, and is likely extremely fragile.
It could all be for nothing.”
“I’m willing to take that chance. If even one of our people is on that
thing, we need to do everything in our power to get them back on
board.” Stepping up from the command chair, Eckhoff slipped into
the helm console on the starboard side of the bridge. “I’ll do the
maneuvering myself. Just get the bay ready to take in the cargo
module.”
“Okay,” Tlustos said with a shake of his head, “but for the record, I
think this is a bad idea.”
“If It doesn’t work out you have my permission to tell me ‘I told you
so’ until the cows come home.”
Once the shuttlebay was pressurized, Lieutenant Eckhoff and the
security team that’d been poised beyond the air lock rushed toward
the cargo module. Opening the door, they were surprised to find the
Sao Paulo’s captain and the rest of the boarding team waiting inside.
With assistance offered by one of the security officers, Dr. Lyons was
the first out. Eckhoff noted that she appeared to be in shock.
“How . . . how did we get back on board?” she asked while standing
unsteadily.
“With some ingenuity and some luck, Doctor,” Doug said with a
crooked smile.
“Well done, Lieutenant,” Captain Webber said as he pulled himself
out of the cargo container. “The ride in was a little bumpy, though.”
Eckhoff nodded toward the aft end of the shuttlebay. Webber
turned as well, noting a large gash in the starboard bulkhead.
“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to scratch the paint. A wave of distortion
hit us the moment after the ship enveloped the cargo pod.”
Webber couldn’t help but offer a similar smirk in return. “I’ll make
sure the service doesn’t deduct it from your pay.”
“Thank you, sir,” Eckhoff replied with relief.
“We’ve got an injured crewman from the Amaretto in there. Let’s
get him to sickbay on the double.”
“Aye, sir.” Snapping his head around, Eckhoff motioned toward the
emergency stretcher hanging on the forward bulkhead, which two of
the armed security officers were quick to acquire. Minutes later, the
group was rushing down the Sao Paulo’s corridors toward the medical
compartment.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Lyons ushered the captain and the first
officer into the emergency ward. Brian noted that while the color had
returned to the injured man’s face, the scowl he wore told him that
the man was still in pain. “How is he?”
Removing her latex gloves, Lisa moved over to the bed’s readout
display. “He’s stable, but there were a number of internal injuries. I’ve
repaired the most severe ones, but he’s going to need the services of
a full hospital to get everything back to working order.”
Webber nodded to the readings on the medical status display—only
a few of which he understood. “Can he talk?”
Sighing, she looked to the patient worriedly. “Please keep it brief.
He needs to get his rest.”
“Did you get his name?”
Shaking her head slowly, she stepped back to give the captain more
room.
Webber braced himself against the side of the bed, leaning to within
whispering distance to the patient. “My name is Captain Brian
Webber. Do you understand?” The man nodded slowly, as if the
simple act took great concentration. “You’re on the United Earth
spaceship Sao Paulo. We picked up your vessel’s distress call. Do you
understand?” Again he nodded. “Can you tell me your name?”
The man’s eyes cracked open, but he didn’t look in Webber’s
direction. “First . . . First Mate Castillo,” he said in a cracked voice.
“Mr. Castillo, do you know who did this to you?”
40
With effort, he shook his head. “No . . . no warning. Came out . . .
from nowhere.”
“Who? Who came out of nowhere?”
Castillo continued to shake his head, his eyes closed once more as
he relived the battle in his mind. “Never . . . never seen the vessel
before. Ship’s library . . . no data.”
“Do you remember anything from the sensors?”
More head shaking. “Computers . . . knocked out with the first blast.
All drives went dead. Some . . . kind of EMP pulse. No data after that.”
“Did you get a look at it?”
This time there was a nod. “Saw it . . . for a second. When it turned
for . . . second attack run.”
“What did you see?” Webber asked, but the man was quickly losing
consciousness. Placing a hand on Castillo’s shoulder, the captain
roused him to momentary cognizance. “What did you see?”
“Big . . . big bird.”
“Bird?” First Officer Tlustos asked in quiet confusion. “In space?”
“A bird, did you say?” Webber asked Castillo once more. “Are you
sure of what you saw?”
There was a weak nod, then then man slipped into
unconsciousness.
“I think that’s all for now, Captain,” Lisa said as she moved to
Webber’s side. “He needs some rest. I’ll let you know if his condition
changes.”
Nodding, the captain motioned for Tlustos to follow him into the
doctor’s private office.
“A bird,” Reinhard said, leaning on the doctor’s desk with arms
folded across his chest. “That’s crazy.”
Webber agreed. “Crazy or not, that’s all we’ve got right now.”
“He could be delusional, Brian.”
Webber considered it a distinct possibility. “Nevertheless, we’ve got
to report it. Scan the other vessel . . . Pride of Jupiter. Try to link up
with its computer. We need any and all data on what happened here,
and fast. I don’t want to—”
“Bridge calling sickbay,” Lieutenant Eckhoff’s voice came through
the intercom. “Captain, respond please.”
“Bridge, this is Webber,” he said as he opened the channel. “Report,
Lieutenant.”
“Sir, unknown vessel at extreme range. Closing slowly.”
“Maybe whoever did this is coming back for seconds,” Tlustos
offered.
Webber nodded. “Full alert, Lieutenant Eckhoff. Sound general
quarters, and verify all weapons are at battle readiness.”
“Aye, sir.”
Seconds later, rhythmic klaxons began ringing throughout every
deck of the ship. Rushing from sickbay, Webber and Tlustos made
haste toward the closest turbo elevator to the bridge. Arriving
seconds later, the two moved over to the sensor console, Webber
peering over Tlustos’s shoulder as the science officer verified the
sensor contact.
“Where is the contact now?”
“Bearing 220-mark-3.”
“Anything on the type?”
“Negative,” the science officer said while scanning the oddly
shaped image on his screen. “Vessel conforms to no known type.”
“Sir,” Dan Balkwill said from the communications station. “I’ve
established communications with the Invictus. Captain Thompson is
requesting an update.”
“Send to Invictus: stand fast in your current position. We’re leaving
the area to intercept what we believe to be the vessel responsible for
this attack.”
“Aye, sir. Sending.”
“Helm, plot an intercept course and set the engines to full sublight
speed. I’ve got a few questions to ask that vessel out there.”
“Aye.”
“Vessel is turning, sir,” Tlustos said. “It appears to have detected us
and is moving away.”
“Eckhoff, get us there.”
“We’re moving, sir, but it’s going to take us a minute or two to get
up to speed.”
“The vessel was already at one-quarter light speed when they
began to maneuver away from us,” Tlustos said. “It may already be
too late to catch them.”
42
“I’m not giving up that easily,” Webber said as he sat in the
command chair. “Take her to the absolute limit, Doug. Squeeze
everything out of the impulse drive that you can.” The Sao Paulo had
already been shaking unsteadily as she accelerated. Now it had grown
into a full-fledged shudder that hummed throughout the entire
vessel.
“Target vessel still moving away from us,” Tlustos called out over
the din.
“Fast little sucker,” Eckhoff cursed under his breath.
“Distance?” the captain called out.
“A thousand kilometers and increasing,” the science officer replied.
“Balkwill, how are communications?”
“Clearing up, sir, the farther we get from the center of the spatial
distortions.”
“Open a channel to that vessel, all bands and frequencies. Identify
us to them, and order them to cut all power to their drive engines.”
“Aye.”
“You really think they’ll listen, sir?” Eckhoff asked.
“I don’t plan on giving up pursuit anytime soon, Lieutenant.”
“No response from our hails, Captain.”
“Bridge, this is Chief Engineer Genser,” a voice called out through
the intercom.
“Go ahead, Chief.”
“Sir, things are starting to get a little warm down here. You think we
might slow down for second to catch our breath?”
“Keep things together as long as you can, Chief. Bridge out,”
Webber said before quickly punching the channel closed. No time for
petty complaints.
“Sir,” Tlustos called out with concern. “We’re fast approaching an
asteroid field. Composition is mainly iron and magnesium, as well as
cesium and a handful of other radioactive isotopes.”
“He’s looking for a place to hide out,” Webber said with a nod the
view screen.
“And he’s going to get there a full forty-five seconds before we will,”
Tlustos replied evenly.
More than enough time for him to hide from our sensors. Damn.
“Should we continue pursuit?” Eckhoff asked over his shoulder
without turning from the viewer.
“Negative,” Webber finally huffed in defeat. “We’ve already taxed
the impulse drive. We need to get back to the Invictus and report to
UESPA headquarters about this.”
“We’ve got some viable sensor data on the contact, Skipper,”
Eckhoff said. “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”
“At least this wasn’t a complete waste of time,” Webber countered
optimistically. “Very well. Helm, break off pursuit and set a course
back to the Invictus. Mr. Tlustos, I want you to run everything you
have on that vessel through the ship's computer. Have it ready for a
department head briefing in one hour.”
44
Chapter 4
January 2152
Stardate 15202.01
On the bridge of the Ajax-class destroyer George Washington,
Captain Theresa Vincent sat in her command chair with legs crossed
as she read from the tablet in her hand. Her message, addressed to
the entire crew, was offered with the usual authority with which she
always spoke.
“. . . and to these ends to practice benevolent tolerance and live
together in peace with one another as good neighbors, and to unite
our strength to maintain intergalactic peace and security, and to
ensure by the acceptance of principles and the institution of methods
that armed force shall not be used except in the common defense,
and to employ intergalactic machinery for the promotion of the
economic and social advancement of all intelligent life-forms, have
resolved to combine our efforts to accomplish these aims.
Accordingly, the respective social systems, through representatives
assembled on the planet Babel, who have exhibited their full powers
to be in good and due form, have agreed to the present Charter, and
do hereby establish an interplanetary organization to be known as
the United Federation of Planets. So signed as of this stardate, the
founding members of this delegation.”
She allowed the message to sink into the minds of her crew before
continuing. “The nineteen chapters of the Articles of the Federation
are available to all hands as of this morning. It’s imperative that
everyone become familiar with them, as they are now the guiding
principles on which our new combined government is based. This is
not simply a peace treaty between the founding members; it’s a
declaration of cooperation between all the member worlds—an
outline of understanding to which all our respective races will be
accountable. Many changes will be taking place over the coming
months and years. No doubt some of you will have questions or
concerns, especially those of you who’ve operated under the United
Earth protocols for a long time, such as myself. I suggest you take up
whatever study you need to in order to get the answers you seek. If
failing to find them, you will still be held to the standards set forth in
these articles, and whatever criticisms or denigrations you might
have will be left in your quarters when you’re on duty, because the
UESPA is putting our forces under the spotlight immediately. We’ve
been ordered to link up with an Andorian flotilla approximately three
parsecs from here and conduct collaboration sorties. A squadron of
Alpha Centaurian corvettes will also be involved. United Earth fleet
command has their doubts as to the ability of all forces to work
together peaceably, and our mission is to prove them wrong. I’ll be
counting on each and every one of you to give your all. We’re not just
enforcing policy here, ladies and gentlemen—we’re creating it. That
is all.”
Closing the intercom, Theresa handed the computer tablet to a
waiting yeoman at her side, then turned to her helmsman, the
recently promoted Lieutenant Steven Stone. “What’s our ETA with
the Andorian ships, Mr. Stone?”
“We’re on track to link up with them in seventeen hours, forty-seven
minutes, ma’am.”
“Very good. Commander Rozier,” she asked as she turned to her
science officer, “what’s the status of our forces?”
“Unchanged, Captain. The destroyers Scythe and Enmity are still
astern of us and holding. The United Earth light cruiser Hammer is still
on course to link up with us at 1330 standard time this afternoon, well
before we reach the rendezvous coordinates relayed to us by
Commander Ral’za of the Andorian fleet.”
“And the modifications to the ship’s firing computers?”
“Underway. They should be completed before we link up with the
Hammer.”
Theresa nodded. The thought of a live fire exercise was enough to
set any captain on edge, and adding the untested variable of foreign
fleets into the mix was even worse. There was no way to reduce the
power to the ship’s armament, so every shot fired had the ability to
inflict severe damage on any vessel that was struck. Modifications to
the ship’s firing computers and the sensors were ordered, which
46
would in effect fool the computers of both the attacking and attacked
vessels into believing that a salvo fired close to a goal was in fact
striking the intended target. “Ensure that they are, Greg. See to it
personally if you have to.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rozier acknowledged. “Permission to leave the
bridge, then? For the moment, I’ll be of better use in sensor control.”
“Approved. Navigator?” she asked, turning to Ensign Wright.
“Please assume the science station in Commander Rozier’s absence.”
Ricky Wright, six months out of the United Earth Space Academy,
looked quickly to the vacated science station, then to his captain.
“Ma’am?”
Theresa cocked an eyebrow. “You are qualified, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Wright replied nervously. He’d only recently
completed his qualifications to assume the post, and thought it would
have been at least several more days until he was asked to stand that
station as a relief. Then again, the captain had a reputation for
ensuring that every qualified officer was given a chance to shine, no
matter how much experience they’d documented in a particular
assignment. Ricky saw the corner of her mouth turn slightly upward,
the most anyone ever saw the captain smile.
“Then I mean now, Mister.”
“Aye, sir.”
“I’ve got the starship Hammer on audio, Captain,” Ensign Koval said
from the communications station.”
“Starship Hammer, this is the UESPA destroyer George Washington.
Permission to come alongside.”
On the Washington’s view screen, Captain Vincent watched as the
Daedalus-class cruiser Hammer swung into view. Her ball-shaped
forward hull, a distinctive attribute of the class, looked oddly out of
place with Vincent’s group of newly designed hulls. But the old
Daedalus class, recently reactivated, had already begun to prove
themselves capable additions to the fleet. Sturdier built than the
newer ships, they could accept more structural and internal changes
than their proverbial offspring, as was evident by the latest in warp
nacelles that were atop the pylons jutting from the Hammer’s cigarshaped engineering section. Theresa guessed that those nacelles
were likewise attached the new Mark-III warp core. If that was the
case, the nearly twenty-year-old Hammer would be able to run circles
around the George Washington less than half her age. And the
scuttlebutt was that even more changes to the Daedalus class were
coming.
“Roger, George Washington,” the Hammer’s communications
officer’s voice came back over the intercom. “Permission to come
alongside granted. Captain Lundberg sends his compliments.”
“Understood,” Theresa replied. “Advise Captain Lundberg I’ll be
transporting over shortly for a mission briefing.”
“Confirmed, Captain Vincent. He’ll be in the transporter room when
you arrive.”
“Roger that, Hammer. George Washington out.” Stepping out of the
command chair, she lightly touched Lieutenant Stone on the
shoulder to get his attention. “Steven, please take command in my
absence. Commander Rozier is still down in sensor control, and Chief
Engineer Huitt is in sickbay.”
“Anything serious?” the helmsman asked.
“No,” she chuckled lightly. “Just a case of a little too much shore
leave on OSDO 2.”
Steven smiled in return. He’d had more than a little fun himself
when the George Washington had pulled into the Outer System
Defense Outpost a few days before. The ship had been on constant
patrol for quite a few weeks prior, and many of the crew found even
the Spartan facilities of large asteroid-based OSDO 2 a welcome
reprieve to the narrow corridors of the ship. Some had taken their
leave a little too far, though, and it seemed Commander Luke Huitt
had been one of them. “Yes, ma’am.”
Materializing in one of the transporter rooms of the Hammer,
Theresa was saddened to see that Captain Ulf Lundberg was not
there as she’d been promised. Instead, a Vulcan female commander
was there to greet her. She was attractive—in a Vulcan sort of way.
Standing at parade rest, the commander nodded sharply once as
soon as Captain Vincent stepped down from the platform.
“Captain Lundberg sends his regrets. He was called to engineering.
I am Commander Stolik, the first officer.”
48
A stitch of jealously weaved its way through Theresa’s mind, but
was quickly squelched. The once-ardent relationship between herself
and Captain Lundberg had been dormant for some time, and both she
and Ulf had long since promised to put their respective duties before
their personal feelings for one another, especially after he’d been
promoted and transferred from the George Washington to his first
command—the Hammer. “Commander,” she replied with a simple
nod.
“If you will follow me, Captain, I will show you to the briefing room.”
Without another word spoken between them, the two women
made their way down the long corridors of the Hammer toward the
briefing room. Theresa was amazed at how antiquated the Daedalusclass vessel was to her own. Embedded in nearly every bulkhead she
passed was a computer terminal or other monitoring device, used in
everything from damage control to life support to computer database
access. Each had a single function to reduce confusion, the ship
having been built at a time when internal redundancy was a
considered a hindrance to normal operations. How much had
changed in the last twenty years. In truth, many of the old-style
terminals were powered down, their functions now taken over by the
central computer bank installed during the overhaul that saw the
addition of the new warp core. Still, walking the corridors of the old
ship was like going to a museum, and it impressed Theresa that fleet
command thought highly enough of the old class to keep them in
service—despite their almost-antiquated status. All too soon,
Commander Stolik came to an abrupt halt before the closed doorway
to the briefing room.
“I will inform the captain you’ve arrived. Please wait here.”
I bet you will. “Thank you, Commander.”
Stepping into the briefing room, Theresa was once again reminded
of the age of the vessel. Although the long conference table and its
associated computer were of the latest design, a pair of nearly
decade-old computer screens still hung on the aft bulkhead. On the
forward bulkhead, flanked by a flag of the United Earth Space Probe
Agency on one side and the official colors of the Hammer on the
other, was the freshly painted logo of the newly established United
Federation of Planets—a blue circle, separated into quadrants, filled
with the white dots of stars, the whole bracketed by silver olive
branches. Simple. Elegant. She made a mental note to decorate one
of her own conference rooms accordingly.
“Nice, isn’t it?” a familiar voice called out from behind her.
Not wishing to betray the fact that she’d been startled, Theresa
simply shrugged without turning from the emblem. “If you like that
sort of thing,” she said with indifference.
“I just had the ship’s boatswain paint it on this morning,” Captain
Lundberg said as he stepped up beside Theresa to admire the
artwork. “I’m glad he had it done before you got here.”
“And I thought this was all set up for some dignitary coming on
board.”
“You’re worth ten diplomats and a handful of admirals any day.”
“Flattery, Captain?” she asked with a smile, still not affording Ulf a
glance. “That’s a little out of protocol.”
He signed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m learning that, as a
captain, I get a little more freedom of choice without having the
associated guilt.”
“Well, you should still feel guilty about not meeting me in the
transporter room and sending your first officer to greet me.”
Now standing at her side, Ulf smiled as he leaned sideways to give
Theresa a friendly nudge. “We’re having a problem with our impulse
guidance computer. In fact, it was Commander Stolik who discovered
the malfunction in the subprocessor array.”
“And you just happen to be a former chief engineer,” she chided.
“Convenient.”
“Meaning?”
“Oh, nothing,” she sighed. “Just that it appears that the apple
doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Oh, really?” Ulf replied with a chuckle. “Well, just because you
seduced your first officer, it doesn’t mean that I—”
“I seduced?” she said, turning to aim a menacing scowl at the
captain. “I seduced? As I recall, it was you who was responsible for
your own fair share of—”
“Of?” he said with the same dashing smile that always brought her
frustrations up another notch. After all, she’d never formulated a
50
proper defense for it. In the end, she could only laugh, both at him and
herself.
“Still the same man I fell in love with, I see. What a shame. I was
hoping that getting a command of your own would somehow season
you. I can see I was mistaken.”
“Oh, I’m seasoned, all right,” Ulf replied with a slight bow of his
head. “Unfortunately, that seasoning seems to have come with a little
spice mixed in.”
“Of course.”
Ulf reached out to his side and took Theresa’s hand in his own. “I’ve
missed you.”
She felt her resolve giving way as the old emotions came to the
surface. “I’ve missed you, too. I wish . . . I wish things could have been
different.”
“I think they were pretty good . . . while they lasted.”
“That’s the problem. They didn’t last. I stayed with the Washington
and you got the Hammer. And then fleet command sent you a
hundred parsecs away.”
“It wasn’t a hundred parsecs.”
Releasing his hand, Theresa turned to fully embrace him as her eyes
began to water. “It might as well have been. They can teach you
everything in fleet command school about being an officer . . . about
being a leader. But they never teach you what to do when things like
this happen.”
“Shhh,” Ulf consoled as he stroked her hair lightly, then kissed the
crown of her head. “It’s okay. We’re here together.”
“And for how long? As soon as these joint maneuvers are over, you’ll
be back out there, and so will I, going different directions again. The
same old story.”
“Maybe. Neither of us knows that for sure.”
Balling her fists as she pulled back, she lightly smacked them on his
chest. “God, you’re so damn optimistic sometimes. It’s really
annoying.”
He locked eyes with her, then kissed her gently. “We still have ten
hours until we meet up with the Andorian and Alpha Centauri forces.
Please say that you can stay for a little while. I’d like to show you
around the ship . . . maybe get an early dinner.”
Smiling, she nodded. “Everything is ready on the Washington and
the other ships. Once the Hammer is up to speed, we can begin the
maneuvers. I don’t want to keep you from—”
“You aren’t,” he promised. “Professionally speaking, I think you’ll be
proud of the crew I’ve got here. I’ve taken what you taught me on the
George Washington and applied it here, and with amazing results . . .
just like I always tried to give to you.”
Sniffing away the last of her emotions, she nodded. “As long as that
doesn’t extend to Commander Stolik, then I’m sure we’ll be able to
work together nicely.”
Laughing, he then leaned down and kissed her again. “Come on,
Captain. I’ve got one heck of a ship to show you.”
“Captain, we’re arriving at the designated coordinates.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rozier,” Captain Vincent said, stepping down from
the upper level of the bridge after exiting the turbo elevator. Ulf had
given her a whirlwind tour of the Hammer and, after grabbing the
promised meal, she’d rushed back to the George Washington. She was
still trying to catch her breath. “I trust everything is ready for us to
begin the fleet maneuvers?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Rozier beamed with pride. “All sensor and computer
targeting systems are functioning within specifications for the
exercise.”
“And the Andorians?”
“At the opposite end of the system from our current location and
heading toward us at one-quarter sublight speed.”
“Not in a very big hurry, are they?” Ensign Wright murmured from
the helm.
“It’s not the Andorian way, Ensign,” Theresa replied. “Some say that
they’ve perfected the art of interstellar tactics. If they’re not in a
hurry, you can be sure it’s because they know something we don’t.”
“You think this is part of the exercise?” Steven Stone asked from the
navigator’s seat.
Was it? She’d received no indication something like this would
happen from fleet headquarters, and in her precious few hours with
52
Ulf on board the Hammer, he’d said nothing about it to her. Was it a
ploy to test our readiness? There was no way to be certain. Still,
everything in the rule book told her to trust in the training she’d
received, and not to guess the motives of aliens who hadn’t had such
intensive instruction—regardless if they were now allies. Raising
shields at this point could be considered adversarial by the Andorians,
but there was no in-between for the George Washington. Either she
was in full-defensive mode or she was completely passive—open for
an attack that might not ever come. “Keep the screens down, Mr.
Wright. The same with the lasers.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“But charge up the magnetronic coils. I want the accelerator
cannons online . . . just in case.”
“Captain,” Ensign Koval began from the communications station,
“I’m getting a message from the Andorian flagship. It’s Commander
Ral’za.”
“On the overhead, please.”
Flipping the required switches, Ensign Koval gave her captain a nod.
“Go ahead, ma’am.”
“Greetings, Commander,” Theresa said to the image of the
Andorian ship now on the main view screen. “This is Captain Vincent
of the United Earth Space Probe Agency vessel George Washington.”
“You’re punctuality is appreciated, Captain,” the gruff voice
responded. “Please stand by to begin the exercises.”
“They’re not wasting any time, are they?” Rozier said from the
science station.
“Commander Ral’za, I thought we could begin by having a brief
meeting aboard our vessel, perhaps with the other starship
commanders, to go over the list of maneuvers we’ll be performing.”
There was a pause in the communication, and Theresa wondered if
she’d said something wrong. Maybe the universal translator
misunderstood? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.
“That would cause unnecessary delays, Captain Vincent,” Ral’za
finally replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Our people fully
understand their duties and what is required of them. It was your
responsibility to ensure the same was true for yours, as it is also the
same for the Alpha Centaurians. If there are deficiencies in
performance, it will not be due to us.”
“Greg?” she quietly asked her first officer.
“We have the full schedule of maneuvers, Captain,” he replied from
the science station. “All vessels in our group have acknowledged
receipt of it and have transmitted their understanding. Assuming the
Andorian and Alpha Centauri vessels do not deviate from it, I believe
we’re ready to begin.”
On the forward screen, all five ships of the Andorian squadron were
now coming into view. They all appeared to be of the same class, and
exemplified a typical Andorian design. Each had tapered forward
hulls, and an elongated central section with wing-like structures
protruding near the stern. Theresa had always felt they looked more
like star fighters than frigates.
“Alpha Centauri vessels now on approach, Captain,” Rozier said as
he looked once more into his scanner.
Having worked with the Alpha Centaurians on several occasions,
Theresa was familiar with the Zoenamy-class corvettes as they sped
into view. At just under 108 meters, the little ships looked more like
small garden shovels, with their scoop-like forward hull taking up the
bulk of the ship, and the two warp nacelles protruding aft from what
would have been the shovel’s handle. The five vessels quickly moved
into position alongside the Andorian squadron.
“Message coming in from the lead Alpha Centauri vessel.”
“Let’s hear it, Sonia,” the captain said to her communications
officer.
“United Earth Vessel, prepare to move into positon to begin the
day’s schedule.”
Not even an introduction? “This is the starship George Washington.
All United Earth vessels are standing by.”
Commander Ral’za’s voice came broke into the open channel. “We
will take the lead in the maneuvers. All forces prepare to begin phase
one.”
Ensign Koval turned to her captain, wordlessly implying that she
hadn’t given Ral’za access to their channel. But Theresa dismissed it
with a shake of her head.
54
“Don’t worry about it, Sonia. The Alpha Centauri vessel probably
patched them in. I’m sure it won’t be the last surprise we encounter
today.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the ensign replied coyly.
Patching the command chair to the engineering section, Captain
Vernon got an immediate reply from the chief engineer. “Yes,
ma’am?”
“Commander Huitt, is everything ready down there?”
“Yes, ma’am. Impulse engines are at your command, and I’ve got
redundant damage control parties standing by to repair any
simulated damage we receive.”
“Understood. Vincent out.”
Chapter 5
Stardate 15208.25
August 2152
“Commander, we approach the Nel’drema system.”
Leaning against the side of the small forward view port, the
commander of U-19 003 looked at the stars impassively. So many
secrets, so many countless mysteries. Would that one them contains the
riches necessary to ensure the sustained growth of the Romulan Empire.
Yet we’ve not come across a single planet with resources enough to
sustain even a single squadron. Months of exploration have produced
nothing. New systems and new worlds charted, yes, but very little to
show for it. Even the thought of coming across a habitable planet—
even one that didn’t possess the riches of raw material—would have
pleased him. At least it would be something for the Colonial Division to
exploit, the commander mused. The months of searching were taking
their toll on both his psyche and the ship’s morale, and he knew
something must change soon or else he’d face the wrath of his
superiors. Failure, he knew, was not an option. Pushing his shoulder
away from the frame, Commander D’tain straightened his dark
metallic tunic and walked the few steps that would lead him to the
three-sided command console in the center of the bridge.
“Slow to one-quarter speed, Centurion,” he said lethargically.
“Yes, Commander,” his first officer, R’land, replied from the
navigation section of the console.
Nodding sharply, he turned to the sensor officer. “Sensor scan,
T’jar.”
The trinum at the sensor console gazed into the screen dominating
his portion of the console. “Four worlds present, Commander. Three
have natural satellites; the one closest to the central star does not.
There appears to be a large debris field between the fourth and fifth
planet.”
“A natural occurrence?”
56
“Yes, Commander,” T’jar said with a sharp nod to D’tain. “The
density of the fragments suggests that two planetoids came into
contact with one another millennia ago.”
“I see,” D’tain said, his few words laced with sorrow. The presence
of the asteroid belt was an ominous one, usually indicative that no
other habitable planets would be present in the system. If there were,
their own gravity would have long ago pulled in asteroidal debris, the
resultant impact devastating their surfaces. “Nevertheless, perform a
full sensor scan, both of the asteroid field and the remaining planets.
Perhaps there is still something to be gained here for the empire.”
The trinum saluted dutifully, then went about his assigned task.
D’tain returned his gaze to the forward view port, the orange star of
the Nel’drema system bathing 003’s command center in its warming
glow. How much like the sun of Romulus it is. Perhaps, eons ago, a
planet as beautiful as our own once called this system home. Perhaps
their people would have welcomed us as allies against the invaders now
knocking at our doorsteps. Surely they would have seen that the
Romulan way was the better. Any further thoughts on the matter were
put aside when T’jar spoke up.
“Sir, sensor readings coming back from planet number four.”
“Specify,” D’tain replied impatiently, frustrated to be stirred so
quickly from his momentary daydream.
“Planetary reading is as follows: type is habitable; acceptable
oxygen and temperature variations to support complex life-forms.
Gravity is somewhat higher than normal, but well within tolerances.”
Finally. A success. The corners of D’tain’s lips threated to turn into a
smile, but he fought back the emotion with practiced military
bearing. Yet the junior officer’s voice was not laced at all with delight.
In fact, it was quite alarmed. “T’jar, if that is so, then why is there
hesitation in your voice?”
“There are warships in orbit around the northern pole.”
Suddenly on alert, the commander went wide-eyed. “Crosscheck
with the computer!”
“Already done, Commander. Sensors and computer records agree
that the vessels in orbit match those of typical invader forces.”
The invaders. And so close to long-established trade lanes. They must
not be allowed to go farther into Romulan territory from here. To do so
might betray the location of our supply base in this sector. “Helmsman,
reduce all forward momentum!”
R’land complied, instantly bringing U-003 to a dead halt.
“T’jar, have the invaders scanned us?”
“It does not appear so, Commander. They remain in orbit around
the planet.”
“Composition of their forces? Perform a low-level scan to mask your
intentions, and leave no detail unmentioned!”
“Scanning,” T’jar said, his fingers moving at the same moment as
his lips. “I should remind the commander that such a scan will take
several minutes to complete.”
D’tain stepped quietly behind T’jar. “One is not afforded the title of
commander without first having stood the post you now occupy for a
time longer than you have been breathing, Trinum,” he said
ominously. “If you wish to remind me of anything else in the future, it
would be wise for you to remember those words, lest you find
yourself reduced in rank and positioned down in the lower decks.”
A shudder ran though the trinum’s body. The lower decks, manned
by those unfit to hold a post of respect, were a banishment from
which many never recovered. While the Romulan way dictated that
even the lowest of soldiers commanded respect for doing his duty to
strengthen and grow the empire, it was a complete humiliation to be
purposely sent to work in a place only suited for slaves and conscripts.
And T’jar knew that Commander D’tain would not hesitate to make
good on his words. The trinum had already witnessed it twice during
the last few months of their voyage. The terrifying thought lasted
only a moment before he straightened. “Yes, Commander.”
“Report?”
“Two armed warships that appear to be escorting an unarmed
merchant vessel.”
“Life readings on the planet?”
“A small camp directly below the orbiting starships. Possibly a small
colony, but due to our great distance from the planet, the readings
are not certain.”
58
D’tain nodded, then turned back to the orange sun dominating the
screen. “More like a mining operation. They have found something of
use to them there and now are intent on stripping the planet of it.”
“A planet in Romulan space?” T’jar asked in astonishment. “Surely
not even the invaders could be so bold.”
“The proof is there for you to see, trinum! And it’s all the
provocation we need to destroy them.”
The communications officer on the far side of the control room
stood up abruptly. “I will send a message to Sector Command and
inform them—”
“You will do no such thing!” D’tain barked as he turned toward the
centurion. “We will not further betray our location in this system. The
element of surprise is still on our side, and I’m intent on squeezing
every drop of blood from it that I can.” He then turned to the third
officer stationed at the central console. “Weapons officer, arm all
forward batteries. Helmsman, prepare to engage the engines at full
speed. We will strike fast and obliterate them before they know what
hit them! For the glory of the empire!”
“Captain’s log: stardate 15209.15. The Vostok and the United Earth
destroyer Kristen have escorted the United Earth colonial transport
Cumberland to the planet Rendova IV. On orders from the new
Federation Council, we’re evacuating the agricultural team assigned
to this planet. With the dramatic increase in pirate activity in the
adjacent sectors, the council feels that the lives of the fifty-two
personnel attached to the science team are in danger, and I agree
completely. A team from the Kristen has beamed to the surface in
order to begin the relocation process while the Vostok remains in
orbit. Scans of the area around the planet are negative, and we expect
the transport of the scientific team from the surface to commence in
the next hour.” Captain Chris Hunt released the recorder button on
the armrest of his chair, then leaned back to admire the beautiful
blue-green world spinning peacefully on the forward view screen.
“Message coming in from the surface,” Lieutenant Steven Butler
announced from the communications station. “It’s Captain Talbot.”
“On the overhead, please, Mr. Butler.” A moment later, the voice of
Don Talbot came through the speaker over the captain’s chair.
“Repeat, this is Captain Talbot calling from the surface.”
“Go ahead, Don,” Hunt said with a smile. “What’s the situation?”
“Looking good down here. In fact, I think we can begin the
transporter operations ahead of schedule.”
“I know I’ll be glad to get out of here.”
“I’m sure the Cumberland’s skipper is thinking the same thing. I’m
surprised UE headquarters had the nerve to send a defenseless vessel
all the way out here.”
Chris could hardly disagree. The two United Earth vessels had
linked up with the transport only the day before, four weeks after it
had departed Outpost 6. That it had made it so far without being
harassed was nothing short of a miracle, all things considered.
“Sensors are still clear up here. Let’s get this over with. I’ll be happy
to get the lot of us back into the heart of Federation space.”
“Federation,” Talbot repeated with a chuckle. “Did you ever think
you’d see the day?”
“The Federation I can deal with,” Chris replied with equal
amusement. “It’s Starfleet that’s got me on edge. All these races,
working together under the same banner, with the same set of rules.”
“And on the same ships,” Talbot finished. “And no matter what our
qualms with it might be, we both know it needs to happen. Especially
after what happened to the George Washington.”
Hunt nodded silently. He’d read the after-action report as well.
During joint exercises some weeks ago, a guidance malfunction
aboard an Alpha Centaurian vessel had caused its weapons arc to
cross into the path of the United Earth vessel. The unprotected cruiser
was practically eviscerated before colliding with the starship
Hammer. As of that report, the Hammer’s captain was still in critical
condition. Of course, the Alpha Centaurians were quick to blame the
Andorians, who they believed were being unnecessarily aggressive
during the exercise and had inadvertently caused the rapid course
change that had damaged the Alpha Centaurian’s computers. In turn,
the United Earth fleet captain, Theresa Vincent, had been quick to
blame the Alpha Centaurians for not following protocols they argued
they’d never received. It had become a huge debacle, one that the
60
Federation Council was quick to act upon. Under the provisions set
forth in the Articles of the Federation, the new combined fleet—
designated Starfleet—was now quickly being assembled. There was
even talk of a new joint training center, some kind of fleet academy.
In truth, there was very little harm in it, and much to be gained by a
joint space service. The only question was, would it work? As with all
things, Chris knew that only time would tell.
“I hear you, Don. Let’s just focus on the mission and get those
scientists from the surface ASAP. We can worry about Starfleet
later.”
Before Captain Talbot could answer, the Vostok’s science officer
piped in. “Sir, I’ve got a sensor contact moving into the system on an
apparent intercept course.”
“Trouble, Captain?” Talbot asked, his voice on high alert.
“Stand by, Don.” Captain Hunt leapt from the command chair to the
railing near the science console on the port side of the bridge. “What
do you have, Mr. Baggio?”
Lieutenant Commander Vincent Baggio spun back to look into the
sensor readout to verify his readings. “One vessel of unknown
configuration, sir. She’s heading in at high impulse. Estimated time to
intercept is forty-five seconds.”
Forty-five seconds? How did it stay hidden for so long? Sure we should
have—
“Correction,” Baggio continued without turning from the screen.
“The vessel matches the general description of pirates who have been
operating in adjacent sectors.”
“I’ll beam back to my ship,” Talbot said through the intercom, but
the suggestion was countermanded by Hunt.
“Negative, Don. There’s no time. The Kristen needs to get her
shields up now, or it’ll be too late!”
“Understood, Captain. Talbot out.”
“Red alert. Shields up. Arm all defensive batteries.”
“The vessel is entering weapons range,” Baggio said.
“Helm, put us between the intruder and the Cumberland.”
As the Ajax-class destroyer began to move into position, the
intruder vessel became visible on the main screen. It was a huge,
green thing, with forward-swept wing-like nacelles with luminous
green caps. And it was fast, deadly so. It quickly attained a positive zaxis, then angled down, as if it were a predatory bird about to swoop
down for the kill. And swoop it did. The first salvo of lasers from the
Vostok missed the target completely as it leapt toward the
Cumberland. Shots from the Kristen were equally ineffective. By the
time the Vostok had turned 180 degrees, the unprotected colonial
transport was a twisted wreck of a thing. The single volley from the
intruder had penetrated the Cumberland’s exterior in no less than four
places, disintegrating the single warp nacelle and opening the top
four decks of the tube-shaped hull to space.
“Life readings on the Cumberland?” Chris said in shock.
“Barely registering. Main life support is out. Main power is offline.
Hull ruptures in sixty percent of the compartments.”
“She didn’t have time to get her shields up.”
“I’m not sure it would have mattered, sir,” Baggio said with concern.
“Whatever weapons that alien ship has, they’re more than a match
for anything in our inventory. A few choice shots and she’ll have us
and the Kristen for lunch.”
“I don’t plan on letting that happen, Mr. Baggio. Where is the enemy
vessel now?”
“Coming around in a wide arc, presumably for another attack run.
The Kristen is moving into position to fire on the intruder.”
“Let’s see it.”
The image of the wrecked Cumberland was replaced with the
enemy vessel, bearing down on the Cumberland once more from the
top right corner. Moments later the Kristen sped into view from the
top left and immediately fired on the intruder with her upper lasers.
The barrage lasted only a second, and the enemy vessel’s shields gave
off a faint greenish glow as they absorbed the blasts. The Kristen then
pulled up slightly, and Captain Hunt understood that she was about
to fire her fission missiles. But before she could get a shot off, the
enemy vessel lashed out with projectiles of her own. Bright orange
and blue bolts sprang from her curved forward hull and impacted
squarely against the underside of the Kristen’s saucer, sending the
Federation vessel veering off.
62
Now it was the Vostok’s turn, but the intruder was coming in too
fast. Sensing his captain’s orders, Lieutenant Richard Todd turned
from the helm to face him. “Forward lasers online and charged!”
“Hold, Lieutenant,” Captain Hunt exclaimed. “Fire fission missiles!”
“Sir,” Todd said in astonishment, “at that range the blast could—”
“Fire now!” the captain barked, sending the lieutenant spinning in
his chair to face his station once more.
“Missiles away!” Todd said just as the Vostok’s hull shuddered under
the force of the launch.
Chris watched as the two bright lights of the engines sped quickly
toward the target that was rapidly filling the view screen. Just as he
thought the intruder was going to open fire, both of his missiles
impacted—one on the forward edge of the intruder’s hull, the other
against the starboard nacelle. Again the enemy target’s shields flared
angrily, and still there was no damage apparent. Thankfully the
enemy vessel banked away from the Vostok before it could fire again.
“Mr. Baggio, anything on the status of the enemy vessel?”
But Vincent shook his head as he looked into his screen. “Sir, I can’t
make head or tails of this sensor data. According to our computers,
that ship shouldn’t be able to do what it’s doing. In fact, it shouldn’t
be spaceworthy at all. Nothing I’m getting back from the sensors
makes any sense,” he fished in frustration.
“Something the enemy vessel is doing, perhaps? Some kind of
jamming?”
“Whatever it is, it’s very effective. I can’t get around it.”
“It’s your job to get around it, Commander. That’s an order.”
“Sir!” Todd called from the helm. “It’s the Kristen. She’s taking
another attack posture.”
On the screen, Captain Hunt watched as the Kristen tried the same
maneuver the enemy vessel had performed on the unprotected
Cumberland. Coming in from a high angle, she swooped toward the
attacker, firing both lasers and fission missiles. This time there was a
noticeable change in the intruder’s status as her shield flared brightly
and then fizzled.
“Are her shields down?” Hunt asked as he turned to Baggio, who
only tossed his hands into the air in defeat.
“Sir, I honestly can’t tell. I’m working on it, but between the firing
data and the sensor analysis, the computers are just plain
overloaded.”
Turning back to the main screen, Ellis watched as the Kristen
continued over the target vessel and cut off the intruder by crossing
the enemy vessel’s path, forcing the craft to break away, but not
before getting a salvo off at the Federation destroyer. The enemy
commander’s aim was impeccable, the bolts of green energy proving
too much for the Kristen’s aft shields.
“Her generators are overloaded, sir,” Baggio called out.
“Helm, get the target back into our firing arc!”
As the Vostok pulled hard to starboard, the enemy vessel appeared
on the left edge of the screen. It was angled directly at the planet.
“What’s she doing?” Chris asked himself quietly, but the answer
came swiftly. Four more bolts of green hellish energy lanced out of
the vessel and sped down through the atmosphere.
“She’s fired on the science station!” Baggio cried out as the blasts
reached the surface. “Registering massive explosions on the surface!”
“Is the target in range?”
Lieutenant Todd’s eyes were glued to the tactical display. “In three
. . . two . . . one . . .”
“Fire missiles!”
The Vostok shuddered once more as two more fission missiles
rocketed away. Appearing on the view screen a second later, one
missed entirely, with the other striking what Chris assumed to be the
impulse drive deck. The explosion let out a shower of debris and
sparks that quickly expanded away from the vessel.
“Baggio, please tell me you have something.”
“Power readings, if you want to call them that, are dropping on the
enemy vessel.”
“Lasers locked on target, sir,” Lieutenant Todd said with his finger
poised above the firing control.
“Communications, try to hail the enemy vessel. I’d like to talk to—”
but the rest of his words fell silent as the enemy vessel exploded into
a cloud of expanding gas and particles. Shielding his eyes from the
brilliant flash, it took a full five seconds for the inferno to die out.
64
When it was safe to look, nothing but the planet beyond and the
mortally wounded Cumberland could be seen.
“We must have had a lucky hit,” Todd said in confusion. “The
damage to their ship didn’t seem that severe.”
Chris wasn’t buying it. He wanted to investigate the matter
thoroughly. However, there were more pressing things to attend to.
But who to contact first? His thoughts went to the commander of the
Kristen, Captain Talbot, down on the surface of Rendova IV.
“Communications, get me the Kristen if you’re able. We need to start
picking up the pieces of this disaster. Have them beam a medical
team over to the Cumberland immediately; full medical contingent.
Advise them we’ll be beaming a similar team down to the surface of
the planet to assess whatever damage the intruder inflicted . . . and
see if there are any survivors. I’ll be leading it personally.”
Lieutenant Butler nodded his head slowly. “Yes, sir. I’ll send the
message now.”
Chapter 6
Stardate 15211.16
“Captain’s log: supplemental. The 24th Tactical Anti-Piracy Group
has been on patrol for nearly two months now, but unfortunately
we’ve got very little to show for it. The latest communications from
the newly established Starfleet Command are showing an increase in
attacks against merchant shipping in nearby sectors, but we’ve had
little success in tracking down the pirates . . . if, in fact, that’s what
they are. Space is, by definition, very large. Even with the sensors of
a half-dozen vessels working in concert, we still can’t scan every
square inch of the quadrant. Pirate vessels could be hiding just about
anywhere, and the only way I can think to find them is to spread our
resources even thinner than they already are. To say that I’m nervous
about this would be an understatement. Tactical reports coming in
from the fleet are alarming, showing a disadvantage in our forces at
each engagement. The Torsk- and Powhatan-class vessels, of which
our group is primarily composed, have been bested at each
confrontation. I can only hope that, with the formation of Starfleet,
we’ll start to see some of the powerful Andorian- and Tellaritedesigned starships trickle down into UESPA hands. Until then, we’re
going to have to make do with what we’ve got, and if these pirate
attacks increase, we may end up suffering greatly for it.”
Discarding the recorder on the bedside table, Commander Paul
Janssens gazed at the overhead in exhaustion. Despite the forgiving
foam mattress of the bed, the ever-present rhythmic pulsations of the
Torsk-class Seawolf’s engines continued to pulse throughout his body
like a gentle massage, vibrating him into blissful oblivion. Glancing
across the small cabin to his desk chronometer, he saw how
dreadfully early it still was. If he slept now, he’d be a wreck by the time
his shift on the bridge came up. Rubbing his eyes, he slipped from the
comfort of his bed, thankful that the thin carpet recently installed in
the ship contained heating elements. Retrieving his lukewarm coffee
from his desktop, he reached out to the computer monitor and
pivoted it toward him.
66
Displayed were the latest reports from the Seawolf’s long-range
sensors. The various graphs and charts showed nothing out of the
ordinary for the last hour. Accessing the engineering data, Janssens
was presented with a top-down view of the ship. The elongated
bubble-like forward hull had the main power conduits superimposed
over it, glowing with energy as they fed the Seawolf’s various junction
boxes. Astern of the primary hull was the tubular engineering section
and the two warp nacelles rising from it. Noticing a deviation, Captain
Janssens was surprised to see a handful of significant fluctuations in
the warp core. Reaching out for the intercom, he stopped himself the
moment before his finger reached the screen. Better just to stretch my
legs and get down to engineering to see what’s going on.
Stepping out from his quarters, Paul skipped the turbo elevator and
took the nearest staircase down three flights to the engineering level.
Passing several crewmen on his short journey, he offered a warm
smile to each. Coming to the long corridor leading to engineering,
Janssens stopped briefly to admire the large windows that looked out
on the botanical section one level below. Used mainly for growing
fresh vegetables for the ship’s galley, the twenty-meter-long
compartment was a favorite respite for the crew. With a small patch
of blue-green grass and a handful of well-manicured trees to sit
under, even the captain had found himself there more than a time or
two since their long anti-piracy patrol had begun. Smiling down at the
ensign who was curled up under one such tree with a book, Paul
turned and headed for engineering.
As the doors opened, the captain was greeted first by the ship’s
monstrous engine. Taking up the entire thirty-meter width of the ship
and extending nearly the same distance to the stern, the pulsating
warp four engine was a sight that never ceased to awe him. The
mushroom-like central housing glowed with an inner pink and blue
brilliance as matter and antimatter collided in controlled chaos.
Computer consoles surrounded the thing, with larger ones on the port
and starboard sides of the compartment. Paul knew that every one of
them was needed.
The “old” V4 engines, as they were now being called, were the most
complicated piece of engineering in the UESPA inventory. New ships,
using the improved warp five version pioneered by the venerable NXclass cruisers, were nearly twice as reliable as this design. It took a
team of fifteen to keep the V4 going, and looking around the room, it
seemed that the chief engineer had called up the second shift early.
Spotting the chief in the far corner of the room, Captain Janssens
weaved his way through a slew of crewmen to get to her side.
“Problem, Terri?”
Commander Terri Connor turned her head sharply toward the
captain, her black hair following a split second behind. “Problem,
Captain?” she asked, bright-eyed and smiling. “No problem at all.”
“I noticed a minor power fluctuation when I was looking at the
status report in my quarters a few minutes ago.”
“Oh?” she asked innocently, then frowned at her terminal. “I’m not
aware of any fluctuation now.” She then looked over the captain’s
shoulder to a far-off technician. “Bob!” she yelled over the din of the
engine, causing the captain to flinch involuntarily.
“Yeah?” a voice called back.
“You know anything about a fluctuation?”
“A what?”
“A fluct-u-a-tion!” she sounded back.
“Nope,” the tech called back.
She then looked back to the captain with a shrug. “Bob’s got
nothing on a fluctuation,” she said, getting a chuckle from the captain
in return.
“Is Lieutenant Jesperson in charge of engineering or are you?”
Smiling, she moved away from the console with the captain in tow.
“Sorry, sir. It’s just that I got a subspace message from the chief
engineer on the Manark. He was able to push her engines to warp 4.4.
And, considering that I’m in my last few weeks aboard before I take
over the executive officer positon on the Alcantara, I just thought—”
“You just thought you could one-up him, is that it?”
“Something like that.” She nodded in defeat. “I was tuning the
intermix ratio, trying to squeeze a few more ounces of power into the
warp coils. It didn’t work out like I expected, and we experienced
some minor fluctuations. I’ve got it all sorted out.”
Nodding as they neared the main entrance hatch, Captain Janssens
chuckled. “You’ve done a fine job here, Terri. No one will ever
68
question that. That’s why I recommended you to move on to the
Alcantara.”
“I know, Paul. It’s just . . . well, the chief engineer of the Manark and
I went to engineering school together. We kind of had this little
competition thing going ever since, and sometimes . . . well . . . his
smugness chafes my core, if you know what I mean.”
Janssens was about to agree when he heard his name announced
over the shipwide intercom. Stepping to the side of the main door, he
pressed a button that would link him to the bridge. “Captain here.
What is it?”
“Graves here, sir. We’ve got something on the long-range sensors.
Could be alien.”
Janssens nodded at the voice of his science officer. “Keep a lock on
the contact, Commander. I’ll be right up.” He turned, still smiling at
the chief engineer. “Keep at those engines, Terri. If you can coddle a
few more decimals out of them, I’m sure we’ll use them.”
Grinning in relief, she offered a mock salute. “Aye, sir!”
Stepping through the doorway, Janssens looked back over his
shoulder before the doors closed. “And if you get any more chafing,
make sure to see the ship’s doctor before you try to cure it yourself,
Commander.”
Back on the bridge of the Seawolf, Commander Janssens moved
swiftly to the science console. The bridge, unlike the newer circular
designs, harkened back to an older era of ships. The forward half of
the bridge, including the large view screen at the center, was arched.
However, the back half—which included the science and damage
control stations, was distinctly angular. Stepping up to the science
station, Paul leaned over to study the readouts. “What do you have,
Mr. Graves?”
Denver Graves reached across the terminal and flipped a series of
switches, then indicated to the sensor scope protruding from the
console. “See for yourself, sir.”
Leaning in, Janssens could make out the faint outline of what
looked like a freighter. “Andorian?”
Graves nodded. “Seems so, but her course is erratic.”
“Where?”
“Sector 67-B.”
“Helm?” the captain asked, glancing toward the combination helmnavigation console.
“About ten minutes at maximum speed,” the Lieutenant Jennifer
Hestigan replied.
“We are the nearest ship, sir,” Graves said under his breath. “The
next closest vessel is the cruiser Kestrel, but she’s still twenty minutes
away at maximum speed.”
“Communications?”
“Not at this range, sir,” Graves sighed.
Janssens quickly contemplated his options. “You say her course is
erratic?”
Graves cocked an eyebrow. “If you’re asking me, sir, I’d say she’s in
some kind of trouble.”
The captain smiled widely. “You’d say anything to break up the
monotony of stellar mapping.”
“Well, I’ll take a stray Andorian over nothing any day. Maybe we can
get some excitement out of it?”
Looking to the readings once more, Janssens wasn’t sure. True, it
did seem as if the Andorians were pushing their engines hard, but
they were far from red-lining their core. “Maybe they’re just in a hurry
to get their shipment of food delivered before it spoils. We’re halfway
between ‘no’ and ‘where’ out here. They’d need to push hard to make
it to the closest outpost.”
“We’re not going to check it out? It’s still a Federation vessel, even
if it’s not Starfleet.”
“With our luck they’ve been out here so long they don’t even know
about the Federation. If they are Andorians, they’re likely armed to
the gills. I, for one, would hate to scratch the Seawolf’s paint over
nothing.” Turning to Denver, Paul could see the distress in the man’s
eyes. “Very well. But let’s proceed cautiously, Commander.”
Graves’s spirits lifted instantly. “Yes, sir. Finally, a chance to do
some real sensor analysis.”
“Communications, hail the Kestrel and the Minerva. Have them
meet us in Sector 67-B in thirty minutes. Helm, bring us about and set
a course for Sector 67-B and engage to warp factor four.”
“Aye, sir!” the young woman replied.
70
Precisely on schedule, the Seawolf transitioned to half-impulse as
she entered Sector 67-B.
“Sir, we’re within communications range.”
Nodding to Graves, Janssens turned to his communications officer.
“Open a channel to the Andorian freighter, Ensign D’upres.”
“Channel open, sir. Audio only.”
Paul nodded, then turned to address the view screen. “Andorian
freighter, this is the United Earth vessel Seawolf. Are you receiving?”
A moment later, a burst of static came across the speakers.
“They may be attempting to use their universal translator, sir,”
D’upres said.
When the speakers were silent, Janssens repeated his message.
Finally, after another burst, a message came through in perfect
Galactic standard.
“United Earth warship, this is Commander Annault of the Andorian
Imperial Vessel Toraass Ch'zilrat. We are being pursued by an
unidentified craft. Please assist us!”
Concerned, Janssens turned to Graves at the science station. After
confirming his readings, Graves shook his head. “Commander
Annault, this is Captain Janssens. Our scanners indicate that there are
no other vessels in the vicinity.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” the voice shot back angrily.
“No, sir,” Janssens replied in his most diplomatic tone. “I’m simply
telling you what our sensors indicate. You are amongst friends,
Commander. Reduce speed and come alongside our ship.”
“I will do no such thing, Terran! Not while that vessel is out there!
We departed Sector 67-G three days ago . . . four vessels and one
military frigate for escort. We are all that is left after those accursed
aliens had their way with us! You may do as you please, but we will
not stop . . . not while that vessel is still out there.”
“Denver, Sector 67-G?”
“Scanners unable to penetrate that far, sir. However, it is in the
direction the freighter traveled from. Distance is about three AUs.”
“The Kestrel and Minerva?”
“Should be here in less than ten minutes, Captain.”
Janssens nodded. “And the Andorians can’t exceed full impulse.
Communications, send to the commanders of the Kestrel and
Minerva. Order them to escort the Andorian vessel back to safety. If
the Andorian captain resists, have them lock on with a tractor beam.”
“Can we do that, Captain?” Graves asked.
“All civilian ships are to be escorted at all times, as per the
Federation Council’s latest decree,” Janssens said with a shrug.
“We’re simply following orders.”
Graves considered this for a moment, then nodded in agreement.
“Kestrel and Minerva confirm, sir,” the communications officer
stated.
“Very well. Miss Hestigan, if you will, please. Set course for Sector
67-G. Warp three.”
“Aye, sir,” Jennifer replied. “ETA to Sector 67-G is thirty-two
minutes.”
“We’re within scanning range of Sector 67-G, Captain.”
“Understood, Mr. Graves. Begin scanning. Helm, slow to onequarter impulse speed.”
“Aye, sir. Slowing to one-quarter.”
“Graves, anything on the sensors?”
“Yes, sir. I have a positive contact, bearing 113-mark-27.”
“One of the Andorian starships Captain Annault mentioned?”
Graves shook his head. “Negative, Captain. Vessel does not
conform to any known specifications.”
“Have they spotted us?”
“It doesn’t appear so, sir. They’re heading away from us, but at only
one-quarter impulse.”
“Should I hail them?” the communications officer asked.
“Negative,” Janssens was quick to correct. “Doing so would alert
them to our presence, and they’ll likely hightail it out of here. Our
orders on the sightings of pirate vessels are quite clear: maintain
surveillance and, if possible, interrogate. That’s exactly what I intend
to do. Lieutenant Hestigan, I want to move to intercept as cautiously
as possible. Try and stay out of their sensor cone.”
“I’ll do my best, sir,” Jennifer replied as she began to input the
figures.
72
“Sir, the starships Tripoli and Danube are close by in Sector 67-F,”
Graves offered. “If we can contact them in the next few minutes, we
may be able to surround the vessel before it has a chance to escape.”
The two destroyers, the final part of Janssens anti-piracy group, had
been dispatched nearly a week before on a routine patrol. Pleased
that they were within range, the captain nodded in agreement. “Let’s
do it. Calculate appropriate vectors and send them to a data file.
Communications, hail our ships and transmit our intentions and the
course vectors provided by Commander Graves.”
“Aye, sir.”
Three minutes later, Graves spoke up from his computer. “I have the
Tripoli and the Danube on short-range sensors, sir. They’re in position
to move toward the alien vessel.”
“I’ve got them on short-range subspace, sir,” the young female
ensign replied from communications. “They’re waiting on word from
you.”
“Very well. Have the Tripoli and the Danube flank the vessel. Take us
in at full impulse and bring us directly abeam of the alien’s bow.”
As the Seawolf raced forward, the stars on the view screen shifted.
All at once the unknown vessel came into view. It was a great green
mass, looking much like an immense ocean-going squid. Four
tentacle-like structures extended aft. On the sides of the forward
section, triangular wing structures were visible. Extending from the
tip of one wing to the other was what appeared to be a giant orange
bird painted on the hull. Then the Torsk-class Tripoli and the
Powhatan-class Danube swung into view, blocking the rear quarters
of the vessel and cutting off any escape route.
We’ve got him! “Communications, open a channel to the alien
vessel. All languages.”
“The channel is open.”
“Alien vessel, this is Captain Paul Janssens of the United Earth space
vessel Seawolf. You have entered Federation space. Respond please.”
After a tense moment, the captain turned to the communications
officer. “Is he receiving?”
“I can’t say for certain, sir, but I don’t see why not.”
A bit more forcefully, Janssens repeated his message. Still, there
was no response.
“Mr. Denver?”
“I can’t make heads or tails of that thing,” the science officer said
with a nod to the screen. “Beats me what makes her go.”
Turing to the viewer, Janssens watched as the silent vessel suddenly
let out violent blast of energy from her central hull. Nearly the same
diameter as the ship itself, the beam impacted squarely with the
Tripoli and knocked her off station.
“Enemy vessel, you have fired on a Federation starship. Power
down your weapons or we will be forced to return fire!” Janssens
pleaded.
Another blast of energy sprang from the enemy vessel. This time
the target was the Seawolf herself. The cruiser’s shields took the
brunt of the blast, but not without damage. Sparks erupted from the
damage control console as the Seawolf lurched under the force of the
impact.
“Damage to shield generators three and six!” Lieutenant
Commander Graves shouted from the science console.
“Hestigan, prepare to return fire!”
“Accelerator cannons charged, lasers coming online. Missiles
locked!”
“Target those structures dangling astern of the ship. Fire a barrage
from the accelerator cannon!”
“Locked, sir. Firing!”
On the screen, four fusion missiles sped away from the Seawolf
toward her target. Each bright red mass struck home, the third one
severing one of the protruding structures from the ship and severely
damaging another. The alien, now sputtering jets of blue plasma from
its damaged engines, listed to port as the vessels external lights
began to dim.
“Communications, hail the vessel. Advise them to stand down and
prepare to be boarded.”
There was a long pause before the young woman replied. “No
response, sir, on any channel.”
“Power readings from the alien vessel are fluctuating,” Denver
offered.
74
Turning to face the officer, Captain Janssens was forced to fan a
cloud of smoke from his face. He glanced at the destroyed damage
control panel nearby, but was pleased when he noticed that the
technician usually stationed there was unharmed. “Weapons status?”
“Must be offline, sir. Otherwise she would have returned fire.”
Looking back to the main viewer, Janssens could see the lights of
the vessel fading even more. Internal power must be shot to hell. But
the vessel is nearly the same mass as the Seawolf, and that meant she
could easily hold just as many officers and crew. To risk beaming over a
team to capture the vessel would be madness. “Rig for towing. Let’s
drag this thing back to Defense Outpost 2 and see what they can
make of her.”
Denver nodded, but looked at his controls in confusion. “Sir,
reading an odd energy signal from the alien vessel.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Narrowing his eyes, Graves tried to cross-check the data. Then, all
at once, his eyes went wide in terror. “Possible buildup to an
explosion, sir. Recommend we get to a safe distance immediately!”
“Helm, move us away! Maximum—” but his words were cut short by
a tremendous explosion that temporally overpowered the optical
capabilities of the main view screen. In space beyond the Seawolf, the
force of the blast knocked the surrounding Federation starships out
of position, sending most of their crews spiraling to their decks. After
regaining his footing, Janssens looked back to the now-normal view
screen. On it, the alien vessel had disintegrated, leaving only a cloud
of gases and debris.
“We didn’t hit it that hard,” Jennifer said in frustration.
“Denver?”
“All indications are that the alien initiated some sort of selfdestruct.”
Damn. “Probably to risk being captured.”
“What now, sir?” Jennifer asked, turning from her station. As she
did, the captain noticed a small cut on her forehead.
“Call up your relief, Lieutenant, then get yourself to sickbay.”
Wearily, she nodded. “Aye, sir.”
“Lieutenant Commander Denver?” the captain asked of his first
officer.
“We’ve got some pretty solid sensor data,” Denver said as he
stepped up behind the command chair. “That’s something almost no
one has gotten on these . . . well, whatever they are.”
“What they are is dangerous, Commander,” Janssens said more
angrily than he intended. “We might have bested them today, but
we’ll be licking our wounds until we can get back to Outpost 2, as will
the Tripoli.”
“Yes, sir.”
Janssens smiled weakly. “Sorry, Denver,” he offered quietly as he
stepped to the science station. “I didn’t mean to bark. I just wanted
today to turn out differently—for all parties concerned, that’s all.”
The lieutenant commander nodded in understanding. “Of course,
Captain.”
“Keep your eyes on the sensors. Make sure there aren’t any more
unfriendly vessels in the area. Communications, before your relief
arrives, hail the Tripoli. Advise them we’re standing by to assist. Then
hail the Kestrel and the Minerva. Have them meet us here in Sector
67-G. We’ve got a lot of material to report.”
76
Chapter 7
Stardate 15211.30
Starfleet Intelligence Headquarters, Starbase 1, Earth
The doors to the dimly lit compartment swept open, and a solitary
Starfleet admiral strode confidently into the seldom-used secure
conference room in a classified corner of the still-uncompleted
starbase. The three men already seated at the long table that
dominated the center of the room stood in respect, but the admiral
directed them to remain seated. Though the assembled men were all
career officers in the fleet, they’d been advised to attend the briefing
in civilian attire—not at all an unusual request, considering their
chosen profession.
“Good day,” the admiral began as he seated himself. “I trust you all
know who I am.”
“Yes, sir,” one of them said, and the other two nodded. “You’re
Martin Hirst, head of United Earth Intelligence. Congratulations on
your recent promotion to vice admiral, sir.”
“It’s Starfleet Intelligence now, Lieutenant Commander Firestine,”
Hirst replied. “And thank you. I assume you all want to know why I’ve
called you here. I’ll begin by saying that I’ve had to pull in a number of
favors to get the three of you in the same room together, so be
assured that I’ve done my due diligence in making sure I have the very
best people chosen for the assignment I’m about to give you. It goes
without saying that what I’m about to tell you is in the strictest of
confidence, and will not be disclosed to or acknowledged by anyone
outside this room for the foreseeable future . . . possibly ever. Is that
understood?”
A round of nods from the three men followed.
“Good. I’m also aware that, due to the nature of your individual
assignments and past affiliations, you may not be intimately familiar
with one another and your respective . . . talents. I’ll begin by stating
that, as of right now, I’m invoking Section II, Article 14 of the Starfleet
charter.”
Each man turned his eyes to the others in silent understanding of
the admiral’s statement.
Hirst nodded in approval. “We’ll start with a brief introduction,
which should help simplify this meeting and any questions you may
have.” He then turned to the first officer. “Lieutenant Commander
Steven Firestine, you specialize in intelligence procedures. Aptitudes
include vessel piloting, bribery, and forgery.” He then looked to the
one opposite Firestine. “Lieutenant Commander Jacques Pelletier.
Specialties include clandestine operations, demolitions, and
metallurgy.” Getting a silent nod from Pelletier, Hirst turned his
attention to the Andorian operative at the far end of the table.
“Lieutenant Chand Ghei. Specialty: terminator. Advanced weapons
training; also highly skilled in surveillance, stealth, disguise, and
interrogation.”
Ghei replied only with a sharp nod.
“There’s no need for me to go over the various awards and
decorations you’ve each received, the text of which contains virtually
every award in our inventory. Suffice it to say, I know that I can count
on each of you to give his all during the coming operation.”
“And what would that be, sir?” the stone-faced Pelletier asked
slowly, his documented disdain for high-ranking officers all too
apparent in his tone.
“For the past year—possibly longer, the Federation has been
systematically attacked by forces still unknown to us. Numerous
military and civilian lives have been lost, and Starfleet Intelligence still
has next to nothing on our adversaries. Due in no small part to the
underlying bureaucracy of the newly combined government, we need
more hard data on the enemy before the Federation Council can
move forward with plans to build up Starfleet’s strength. Your
mission will be to get that intel.”
The unspoken word was obvious to all. War. The Federation was
willing to declare its first war against a new enemy, and it was going
to wield the newly created Starfleet to do it. Ambitious. But for the
moment, it seemed that their proverbial hands were tied.
Understandable.
78
“What are the specifics, sir?” Firestine asked as he leaned back into
his chair.
The admiral stood and stepped toward a large monitor on the far
wall of the otherwise-unadorned room. When switched on, the
screen showed a map of the far edge of Federation space. Hirst
pointed to a glowing dot near the upper right corner. “First, you will
head here—the planet codenamed Babel. As it was the site of the
signing of the Articles of the Federation not long ago, it’s still teeming
with delegates and spectators from every corner of the Federation.
Starfleet Intelligence has a front organization on the planet, but I’m
afraid their intelligence-gathering abilities are somewhat limited. I
want you and your team to set up a covert operation there as well.
You’ll pose as merchants, operating a small cargo transportation
agency responsible for ferrying your wares throughout the sector.
You’ll need to establish yourself, gain the trust of the locals, and glean
as much information as you can from them. This should not be
considered a short-term operation.” He then pointed to a small dot
farther away from the inner sphere of the Federation, closer to
unexplored territory. “This is the Raman system. A handful of
merchant vessels have disappeared in that sector over the last two
months. The only Class-M planet in the system has a small spaceport.
Intelligence feels that the planet may soon come under attack, but
because they are not a member world, they fall outside Starfleet’s
jurisdiction. The Ramans are a proud, rather stubborn group of
people. Considering the wealth of raw materials their planet has to
offer, the Federation wants the Raman system under its umbrella.
The best way to convince them to join the Federation is to stop any
attack before it begins, and to make sure the people of Raman are
aware that the Federation was the one that saved them. You
shouldn’t find any lack of merchants or traders who go between
Raman and Babel, and they’ll likely be your best source of
information. Remember to stay on alert at all times. We still don’t
know the face of our enemy, but someone out there must. Any
questions?”
“Authorized equipment?” Lieutenant Ghei asked.
“Anything you need. Starbase 1 is fully outfitted with everything in
Starfleet Intelligence’s inventory, and a few things that aren’t—
thanks to Agent Ghei and our friends in the Andorian Corps of
Enforcers—plus a few misplaced database entries.”
“Transportation?” Firestine asked.
“There’s a specially outfitted Mauretania-class transport that’s been
made available to the team. She’s been beaten and battered in all the
right places, and while she may not look like much, her engines and
impulse reactors have been upgraded, so she can keep pace with
pretty much anything in Starfleet’s arsenal. She’s also been armed
with two laser cannons concealed inside the hull, and her defensive
screens have been upgraded to Mark II specifications.”
“So,” Jacques laughed derisively, “we can take about two wellplaced shots before we disintegrate.”
“Better that than the alternative, Commander,” Hirst snapped. “Or
do you prefer being a complete sitting duck for whatever is out
there?”
“No disrespect, Admiral-sir, but I prefer to choose my own
transportation. I’m the only judge I trust.”
“This isn’t an optional assignment, Mr. Pelletier, so your
accommodations are non-negotiable.”
“Perfect,” Jacques replied before slumping back into his seat.
Firestine shot Pelletier a look of disapproval. He’d worked with hard
cases in the past, but he had the distinct impression that this one was
going to try his every nerve. Steven considered himself a by-the-book
operative, one who knew well the black-and-white world of an
intelligence operative. Jacques Pelletier evidently lived and breathed
in the gray area between them, and Steven had a feeling that at some
point during this mission the two were going to be at odds. “When do
we leave, sir?”
“Immediately. Your shuttle is prepped for flight as we speak.” Hirst
slipped a computer tablet across the desktop toward Firestine.
“Directions to a storage compartment here on the starbase. In there,
you’ll find all the equipment you need. There’s a cargo transporter
inside, with the coordinates of the shuttle already encrypted into the
controls. Space on the transport is somewhat limited, so choose
wisely.”
80
Steven nodded. “Understood.”
“The codename for this operation will be Project Roundtable. The
location of your contact on Babel is also encrypted into that tablet.
Mention only as much to them when you meet them. You encoded
aliases are on board your transport in a sealed locker. Lieutenant
Commander Firestine, you’ll take command of the team.”
The last remark got a subtle eye roll from Pelletier.
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s all then, gentlemen. Good luck. You’re all dismissed.”
“So,” Jacques Pelletier began smugly as he leaned back into the
chair in the ship’s lounge opposite Agent Ghei, “you specialize in
terminations?”
Firestine, sitting at the controls with his back to the two men, shook
his head. The three had been on course to the planet Babel for four
days and hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to one another
since their departure. That Pelletier had developed a sudden need to
be chatty was fine; it was just the subject matter that had bothered
Steven. Of all the things he could have asked Ghei. Firestine turned the
pilots and looked to Chand, who up to that point had been sharpening
the blade of an imposing-looking weapon.
“And you ask questions for which you already know the answer,”
Chand had replied without missing a single stroke of the blade he ran
along the length of the stone.
Pelletier smiled widely. “Just curious to know more. I’ve never met
a terminator before.”
“I am an agent, just as yourself. That singular specialty does not
define me.”
“But it does, Chand, my boy,” Jacques said with satisfaction. “It
does, indeed.”
“Leave him be,” Firestine said, suddenly feeling embarrassed that
he felt the need to defend the man.
“I don’t think I’m going to,” Jacques snapped, the smile
disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. “I said it before and I’ll say
it again: I work alone. It’s better for me, and it’s better for the mission.
But since I’ve been thrust into this assignment with you people, I want
to know who and what I’m working with. And that means I’ve got a
few questions for you, too, Mr. commander-of-the-team.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Everybody’s got something to hide,” Pelletier said, his smile
returning as a devilish grin. “Especially people like us.”
“I’m not sure you and I fit into the same category,” Steven replied.
“Oh, I think we do. Sure, we have different skill sets, but deep down
we’re all made of the same thing . . . all based on the same mold.
That’s why they call us for these missions. We do the things they can’t
do for political or personal reasons. We do the dirty work so they can
stay clean and pretty while we justify what we do in the name of duty.
At least, I’m sure that’s how you sleep at night.”
It was Steven’s turn to smile. “I sleep just fine, Commander.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Jacques sneered, then turned his attention back to
their Andorian teammate. “And how about you, Chand? How do you
sleep?”
Ghei swiped the blade down the length of the dark stone once
more, then set it gingerly aside on the tabletop. “We all have our
respective skills, Agent Pelletier. I am quite sure I take mine no more
or less seriously than you do yours.” His tone was one of finality, and
both Jacques and Steven knew that little more would be spoken on
the subject.
“And you specialize in demolitions,” Firestine asked Pelletier. “I’m
sure you’ve retired more than a few targets yourself.”
But Pelletier dismissed Steven’s comments with a wave of his hand.
“Collateral damages. Ghei here is the real deal, though.” The
comment was almost prideful. “I’ve always wanted that little
accolade on my list of skills.”
“It takes a great deal of mental discipline to perform such feats,
Agent Pelletier,” Ghei replied calmly. “Discipline I can see that you are
lacking.”
“Oooh,” Pelletier jeered. “Old Chand here’s got a tongue as sharp
as that blade. What do you think, Steve-o? Still think I should leave
him alone?”
Firestine shook his head in disappointment, then folded his arms
across his chest. “How did you ever manage to get into the agency in
the first place, Jacques?”
82
Ghei smirked, the first real display of emotion that either Firestine
or Pelletier had noted. “A question I am also curious to see answered.”
Jacques seemed to enjoy being under the spotlight. “Well, like
Chand here, I’ve got a knack you could say—a talent the agency was
looking for. I didn’t spend too much time in the Fleet Marines before
someone took notice.”
“Your lack of discipline and respect for authority should have
hindered your ability to become accepted in the agency,” Ghei said,
lifting the knife from the stone as he continued to sharpen his blade.
“I guess it doesn’t bother them because I’m good at what I do.”
“I don’t care how good you are, Jacques,” Steven said sternly. “It
bothers me, and while I’m in command of this mission, you’ll follow
my orders whether you agree with them or not.”
“Not if those orders could get me killed, I won’t.”
“I’m not going to let that happen. You have my word on that.”
“Don’t even think about saying ‘trust me,’ because that’s not going
to cut it.”
“The only time I’d ask you to trust me is if I felt I could put the same
faith in you, which I can’t. That goes for Chand as well. But you said it
yourself: we’ve all got the same basic training buried deep down. I’m
relying on that to keep this team together and alive. Anything else
you can contribute will be an asset, but if you become a liability, don’t
think for one second you won’t be cut loose.”
“Goes for me, too,” Jacques said with a shrug. Chand was silent, but
Steven could tell the Andorian was thinking the same thing.
“If it helps any, don’t think of it as a just an operation. We’re doing
something here that’s meaningful to millions, possibly billions of
lives. Just do what you do best, following orders in the process, and
we can be done and go our separate ways.”
Pelletier let out an exasperated breath. “Suits me just fine.”
Ghei nodded sharply. “Agreed.”
“Good. Now, since we’ve established a common dialogue, I think it’s
time to go over the data Admiral Hirst provided us.” Steven produced
three computer tablets, placed one in front of himself, and then
handed the other two to the men. “Let’s start with our aliases. Get
familiar with them, as they’ll be exclusively used twenty-four hours a
day once we reach Babel.”
“Babel has a twenty-eight-hour day,” Ghei replied, deadpan, as he
looked to the tablet.
Steven looked up and caught Chand’s eyes. A second later the two
began to laugh, joined by Jacques a few seconds later.
Steven peered over the vacant pilot’s chair, rubbing the sleep from
his eyes as the shuttle dropped out of warp. Pressing the intercom
button, he roused Agents Ghei and Pelletier from their sleep. “We’ve
dropped out of warp at the edge of the Wolf 424 system, gentlemen.
Look alive.”
“Just five more minutes,” Jacques’ tired voice replied.
“Negative. I need all hands on deck for the landing. We’ll be at Babel
in just under ten minutes.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”
The sound of the doors opening behind him caught Steven’s
attention. It was Chand, fully dressed and looking alert. “That was
fast.”
Chand slipped into the flight engineer’s seat at the aft end of the
compartment. “I do not require much sleep. I’ve been up for the last
hour, meditating.”
“I see.” Steven rubbed his chin slowly, then stepped over to the
brewing coffee pot beside Chand’s console. “Care for a cup?”
“I do not drink coffee,” Chand replied as he began inputting figures
into the ship’s engines. “It alters my true perception of things.”
“Well, right now my senses need some altering.” Steven chuckled
as he sipped his cup. The odor—and taste—were far from palatable.
“Wish we had room for a protein synthesizer on the ship. At least I
could scrounge up some cream and sugar for this tar.”
“They had one installed on a cruiser that I was on during my
previous assignment. As you humans would say, it was not much to
write home about.”
The doors opened again to admit Jacques to the command deck.
Eyeing the coffee, he quickly grabbed a cup and took a hefty sip.
“Careful, Jacques,” Steven began to warn the man, “that’s stuff’s
pretty—”
84
But Pelletier let out a blissful sigh after moving the cup from his
mouth. “This stuff is delicious. Did you make this?” He looked down
at Chand, who replied by hooking a thumb in Firestine’s direction.
Jacques hefted his cup toward Steven in a salute. “Compliments to
the chef.”
“How can you possibly enjoy this?” Steven asked as he took another
dread-filled sip.
Jacques smiled. “Tastes just like the way Mom used to make it.”
“Now I am beginning to understand why you are the way you are,”
Chand chided without turning around.
“My mother was an amazing cook, thank you very much.”
Steven nodded down to the engineer’s console. “Chand’s not much
of a coffee connoisseur.”
Jacques grunted with dissatisfaction. “Figures. They should have
made that part of the Federation charter; all member races are
expected to appreciate the warming love provided by a delicious cup
of java.”
“My people would not have signed.”
“Well, it would have been their loss, then,” Jacques said as he hefted
himself into the copilot’s seat.
A beeping sound from the forward console indicated that the
shuttle had come within sensor range of the planet Babel. “They’re
going to be looking for our intentions,” Steven said to Jacques.
Pelletier had just finished strapping himself into the chair. “Yeah,
yeah,” he said, flipping his hand over his shoulder as he looked over
the controls, searching for the hailing button.
“Top right. The blinky blue one.”
“Blinky blue one . . .” Pelletier repeated twice under his breath as he
searched the panel before locating it. “Ah ha.” He examined and
pressed it. “Babel station, this is the trader ship SS . . .” he turned to
Steven, hoping that Firestine had changed the ship’s name in the last
hour. When Firestine silently motioned from him to continue
speaking, Jacques cringed before uttering the name. “Daffodil.
Requesting permission to land.”
“Stand by, Daffodil,” a voice repeated, causing Jacques to roll his
eyes.
When the channel was muted, he turned to Steven. “Daffodil?
Really? You couldn’t think of something . . . I don’t know . . . more
respectable?”
“We don’t need respectable. We need covert. Nothing more
harmless and chipper than a daffodil.”
“But Daffodil? Why couldn’t it have been Poison Ivy . . . or Venus Fly
Trap . . . or even Rose? At least those have thorns.”
“Next time you lead a mission you can name the ship whatever you
want.”
Jacques snorted, but then was informed that the landing officer on
Babel wished to speak to him again. “I’ll call my ship the Sword of
Death,” he mumbled before opening the channel. “This is the
Daffodil,” he said with all the sarcasm he could muster.
“Daffodil, this is Babel landing control. Your identification codes are
approved. You are authorized to land on landing pad zero-three-two.
Confirm?”
“Confirmed. Landing pad zero-three-two.”
“Understood, Daffodil. Welcome to Babel. We hope your time here
is a pleasant one.”
“Thanks, control,” he said, then turned to Steven. “And you have
yourself a chipper day.”
86
Chapter 8
Stardate 15306.22
June 2153
“I’ve almost got it, Chief,” said the muffled voice from the
technician underneath the console.
“Just hurry it up, will you?” the space station’s chief engineer replied
impatiently. “I’d like to get down to the party before last call.”
There was a clicking sound from under the console, followed by the
technician shuffling his legs. “Why? Afraid they’ll run out ale?”
Checking the readout on the environmental controls once more and
seeing no change, the chief engineer shook his head. “I just don’t
want to miss any of the fun. It’s not every day they commission a new
base.”
“I see,” the technician drawled mockingly. “In other words, you just
want to rub elbows with all the fleet officers up there. Maybe then
you’ll get that transfer to a starship you’ve been hoping for.”
The chief laughed. “Something like that. Now, don’t get me wrong
. . . I enjoy shore duty as much as anyone in the fleet. I just think I’ve
been here a little longer than I need to be, and I’d like to make senior
chief before I retire. There’s not much of a chance of doing that while
attached to an outpost, even one as advanced as this one. Besides,
we’ve got eleven ships’ worth of personnel here for the ceremony and
some shore leave. That means eleven ships’ worth of officers looking
for a good time.”
“And you just happen to have the roulette tables to accommodate
them,” the tech chuckled, his head and shoulders still buried in the
open access panel. “And Delta VII just happens to be far enough away
from Starfleet Command for you to get away with it. You’re an old
space dog, Chief.”
“If I can line my pockets with a few credits, I’ll be a well-off space
dog. And if you can get us out of here in short order, I may even
consider tossing a few your way.”
The technician below the console slipped out, closing the access
panel before hefting himself to his feet. Wiping his hands on his
coveralls, he pulled a diagnostic scanner from his pocket and waved
it over the exposed circuitry of the control panel’s surface. “Any
change in the readings?”
“Nothing,” the chief station engineer huffed as he looked at the
display once more. “Temperature is still dropping on level six. It’s
going to start snowing in there if we don’t get this fixed soon.”
The technician laughed. “That’d certainly ruin those chances of you
getting a promotion.”
“That it would. So let’s make sure we do this right.”
“Not to worry, Chief,” the tech replied confidently. “These new Ktype stations may seem pretty complicated, but underneath they still
operate like anything else in Starfleet’s inventory.”
“So say the engineers who certified it. I’m still not certain that
Tellarite technology meshes all that well with Terran designs.”
“You worry too much, Chief,” the tech joked, then closed the open
control panel. Once it was secure, the control panel surface glowed to
life. “Much better.”
After the tech had inputted a series of commands into the station’s
computer, the chief noted the environmental control display was
showing new readings. “Well now, things are looking up. The
temperature on level six is returning to normal.”
“Easy as pie, Chief.”
“What’d you do down there?” the chief asked as he nodded to the
access hatch under the control panel.
“I rerouted some of the circuit paths. Nothing too serious.”
“It’s not going to overload anything, is it?”
“Not a chance. I scavenged some power from a few of the
nonessential systems. Besides, like I said, the circuit pathways in
these new stations can handle the increase in load.”
Leaning over the console, the chief inspected the tech’s handiwork.
Checking the readouts, the engineer could see that the circuits were
indeed holding steady. The temperature readings were almost back
to normal, and all other systems were operating within specs. “Not
too shabby, my boy. Good work.”
“You’ll sign off on the repair, then?”
88
The chief engineer nodded. “Looks good. All done here?”
The tech looked over the environmental controls once more before
nodding. “All done. Now, let’s get out of here. I’d like to get my hands
on some of those credits you mentioned.”
“Right this way,” the chief said with a smile as he waved grandly at
the doorway. Just as the door closed behind them, in the far corner of
the control room, a single red indicator reading “circuit fault” began
to flash steadily.
“I think this game is rigged,” Commander Michael Connor,
executive officer of the USS Neptune said in disgust as he tossed a
palm full of golden credits onto the felt tabletop.
Sitting on the barstool beside him, the ship’s captain, the otherwise
human-looking Nicholas Shanayda of the planet Alpha Centauri B,
nodded in agreement. “If I lose any more I’ll have to dip into my
retirement savings to pay the bill.” Just then, a jubilant eruption came
from a table behind the two. Turning in unison, the two officers from
the Neptune watched as the entire command crew from the Andorian
starship Thal’savari won yet another round of credits from the craps
table. In fact, there were smiles from nearly every officer sitting at the
dozens of tables throughout the room.
To Captain Shanayda, it appeared that in the last hour, the entire
gambling hall had been taken over by the command crews from the
eleven starships of the 15th Tactical Squadron. Not a single table had
an empty seat, and everyone present had some amount of gold braid
on the cuffs of their sleeves. Indeed, on a card table opposite the two
Neptune officers, the squadron commander, Commodore Han, was
busy keeping the ear of the outpost’s commander, Commodore Carr.
Several empty drinking glasses flanked the two flag officers who
seemed to be enjoying patting one another on the back.
“I think I’ve had about as much shore leave as I can handle, Nick,”
Connor said as he slipped out of his chair. “Permission to save what’s
left of my insignificant earnings, sir?”
The captain smiled weakly. “Heading back to the Neptune?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve got some crew evaluations to go over.”
Shanayda frowned. “But the efficiency reports aren’t due until next
week.”
Another burst of laughter came from a far-off table, and
Commander Connor wagged his head in the table’s general direction.
“I could do with a little more peace and quiet.”
“I hear you,” the captain smiled. Quickly sipping down the rest of his
drink, he collected his own meager pile of winnings from the table. “In
fact, I’ll tag along. I’m sure the torque sensors need aligning.”
Stepping down from the Neptune’s transporter pad, Captain
Shanayda and Commander Connor were greeted with a tired smile
from the console operator, the ship’s chief engineer, Commander
Redden.
“How’d you pull the late watch, Jon?” Connor asked the chief as the
two men leaned over the console.
“Just lucky I guess,” the engineer said slowly, then yawned.
“I thought you were supposed to be up on the bridge,” Captain
Shanayda said with a tired frown.
“I was, sir. I needed a break from the monotony. A walk down to the
transporter room for a few minutes seems to have done the trick. I
left Lieutenant Frahm in temporary command.”
Jarrod Frahm, the ship’s helmsman, was more than capable of
standing the watch. Still, the captain felt the desire to check in on the
young junior officer. “I’ll head up to the bridge and make sure the
command chair isn’t gathering dust.”
“Yes, sir.” Chief Engineer Jonathan Redden smiled. “I’ve got
someone from engineering on their way here now to relieve me.
There’s a few things to double-check myself. With most of the crew
down on the station, it’ll be nice not to have to step over anyone in
the crawlspaces.”
“Understood, Chief.” Leaving the transporter room, the captain
was surprised to have Connor trailing him to the turbo elevator.
“Weren’t you going to finish those crew evaluations?”
Inside the lift, Michael slumped against one of the walls in
exhaustion. “I am. I just left some of the files near my computer.
Might as well get them while I’m still cognizant.”
90
Seconds later, the elevator deposited them on the Hercules-class
cruiser’s command deck.
“Captain on the bridge,” the fresh-faced Lieutenant Frahm called
out from the helm console to the nearly empty bridge. The only other
officer on duty was the third-shift communications officer, an ensign
whose name currently eluded the captain. Shanayda chalked it up to
exhaustion, vowing silently to recall the name before he retired to his
cabin. The captain nodded, first to the ensign, then to Frahm. On the
main view screen, the glistening new K-type station spun slowly on its
axis. Surrounding the station were the cruisers, destroyers, and
frigates of the 15th Squadron. Far below them, the rocky and
somewhat barren Class-L world of Delta VII was plainly visible.
“Status, Lieutenant Frahm?”
“All quiet, sir. The ship’s at station keeping. We’ve got fifty
crewmen on watch, fifty-two relief officers off duty, and the rest
down on the station.”
From behind, Captain Shanayda heard Commander Connor
chuckle. “We’ve got more personnel sleeping than any other ship out
there has on board them,” the commander said. When the captain
turned to his science officer, Connor pointed toward the short-range
scanners. “And those numbers are confirmed,” he finished with a
smile.
Chuckling to himself, Captain Shanayda turned back to the view
screen in time to see every light aboard the space station wink out for
a brief moment before turning back on. Did that really just happen?
Squinting, Shanayda rubbed his eyes and stared for a long moment
at the screen. All was quiet for a full minute, and then the lights
flickered again. This time, they were out for a full five seconds. “What
the hell?” Turning to Connor, the captain could see that the science
officer was already adjusting the sensors.
“There’s a fluctuation in the station’s power core,” Michael said
while peering into his scanner.
“Dangerous?”
Connor shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s only affecting
nonessential systems.”
“Communications,” the captain said as he turned his attention back
to the main screen. “Hail the station. Let them know we’re
monitoring their situation.”
“Communications with the station are down, sir.”
“Like I said, many of the nonessential systems are being affected,”
Connor chimed in. “Communications, lights, some sensor arrays . . .
but life support and gravity controls are still at 100 percent.”
Shanayda sighed, then shook his head. “I don’t like it. Try and raise
Commodore Carr on his personal communicator.”
“The station’s shields just went up,” Connor said.
“A malfunction?”
Connor nodded. “And now they’re down again.”
“Interference on all channels, sir,” the ensign at the
communications console called out.
“There’s a radiation buildup in one of the power generators,”
Commander Connor said. “It’s going to blow.”
On the view screen, Captain Shanayda watched as a small explosion
rippled across the lower section of the space station. A split -second
later, all the station’s lights went dead.
“All nonessential systems on the station are now totally offline,”
Connor said in disappointment. “However, the shields have come
back online and are steady.”
“It’s a failsafe measure built into the design,” Shanayda huffed. “It
stops any attacking forces from exploiting the station if they come
under fire.”
“And the shields can only be lowered from either auxiliary control
or the command deck, both of which cannot be accessed by the nowinoperative turbo elevators,” Connor said, fighting back a yawn. “It’s
going to take a few minutes for repair crews to get to them via the
crawlspaces.”
But Captain Shanayda had newfound sense of vitality. “Until that
happens, we’ve got a whole fleet worth of personnel trapped over
there.”
“And the damaged reactor is venting radiation. It’s not lifethreatening, but it’s going to play havoc with communications for the
time being.”
92
“Ensign de Wolf,” the captain said, remembering the
communications officer in a moment of clarity. “See what you can do.
Send out a general message to all ships in the squadron. I want
everyone’s attention, and I want it right now.”
An hour after the station’s power had gone completely offline, the
situation had not improved. All communications with the station
were still down, and only two of the orbiting starships had managed
to cut through the radiation to reach the Neptune. The other vessels
were holding station, waiting on a breakthrough that would see their
crews returned to them safely. And, as fate would have it, it was that
moment when the situation turned from bad to worse.
“Sir,” Michael Connor exclaimed from the science console, “I’m
tracking numerous unidentified vessels entering the system at high
speed!”
“Starfleet vessels?” Captain Shanayda asked, knowing that it
wasn’t likely. The 15th Squadron was the only group of Federation
vessels operating in this sector. Still, there was a glimmer of hope it
was a passing merchant fleet.
“Negative, sir. The vessels aren’t broadcasting any identification
codes.”
That was typical of only a few races, including the Orions. However,
Delta VII was too far distant from the Orion trade routes for it to be
them, let alone any of the other species that quickly raced through
Shanayda’s mind. In the end, there was little choice of who was
coming in.
The invaders. But Starfleet thought we were too far distant from their
area of attacks to be in any danger. I guess they were wrong.
“Communications, send out a message to our frigates. Advise them
to go to red alert status.”
“I’ve lost contact with them again, sir. They’ve strayed too close to
the station, and the radiation is jamming our signals.”
“Hopefully they’re tracking the incoming vessels as well. Lieutenant
Frahm, arm the weapons and raise the shields. I think we’re about to
have a fight on our hands.”
“Aye, sir! Laser batteries charging . . . shields coming online.”
“Intruders have increased to flanking speed,” Commander Connor
called out from the science console. “Only three of our own vessels
have moved into defensive positions.”
“Frahm, plot an intercept course and engage at full sublight speed.
Maybe we can intercept the targets and buy our people some time.”
“Course plotted, sir. Impulse reactors powering up.”
The deck beneath the captain’s feet began to vibrate as the reactors
were taxed to their limit to get the ship up to full speed.
“We’ll intercept the incoming vessels in five seconds,” Connor said,
still gazing into his monitors. “There are approximately twenty
contacts, sir. Varying hull designs, but several match the general
description of known pirate vessels that have attacked Federation
vessels in the past.”
“On screen.”
The forward screen was filled with a fleet of green vessels. Some
looked like great birds, with wings swept high, their tips glowing a
sickly green. Others looked like giant green mushrooms, their
bulbous ends pointed forward like enormous battering rams.
“Try to hail them. Warn them off.”
“Buildup in the enemy vessels,” Connor countered. “Looks like
they’re powering up their weapons.”
“We’re within firing range, sir,” Frahm called out.
But before Shanayda could order the weapons officer to fire, the
mushroom-like vessels opened up with a barrage of their own. Lances
of yellow laser fire reached out across space from four of them at
once. Three struck the Neptune simultaneously, rocking the cruiser
off course and sending Shanayda and Connor tumbling from their
chairs. Lieutenant Frahm and Ensign de Wolf held fast, but had to grip
their consoles with all their strength to do so.
“Return fire!” Shanayda called over the sound of the engineering
console exploding.
“Firing lasers!” Frahm exclaimed. The beams, visible on the main
viewer a second later, struck one of the bird-like vessels. Easily the
same mass as the Neptune, the target’s shields flared green as they
absorbed the blast.
“No damage to the target,” Michael Connor yelled from the science
station. Then the Neptune was struck again. This time it was de Wolf
94
who was tossed aside like a rag doll. He tumbled down the steps to
the bridge’s lower deck, ending up at Captain Shanayda’s feet.
“Fusion missiles have impacted with the engineering section,”
Connor yelled.
Nicholas turned to see the science officer nursing a cut over his right
eye. But this was not the time to mend wounds. “Continue to return
fire!” he yelled down to Frahm, then pressed the intercom button on
his command chair. “Engineering, this is the bridge. Redden, divert all
power to the shields! We’re not going to last much longer under this
kind of an attack!” Shanayda watched as two rounds from the
accelerator cannons raced away from the Neptune. Both struck one
of the mushroom-shaped ships before it raced past the stricken
Starfleet cruiser.
“I’ll do what I can,” the chief engineer’s voice said helplessly. “I’ve
got a lot of dead and dying people down here.”
“Vessels are moving away,” Connor said in surprise.
“Are they coming around for another attack?” Captain Shanayda
asked quickly, trying to catch his breath as he jumped back into the
command chair.
“Negative. They’re continuing on to Delta VII.”
“They don’t want us. They want the station! Helm, pursuit course . .
. maximum speed!”
“Impulse reactors heavily damaged, sir,” Jarrod said as he tried to
coax the Neptune into doing as he was ordered. “Anything more than
half-sublight and we’ll blow them for sure.”
“Get us there, helm. I don’t care how you do it.”
“They’ve reached the station,” Connor called out. “They’ve
engaged our vessels.”
“Can we get a visual?”
“I’ll try and tap into the station’s visual sensors. However, the
radiation present will distort the images.”
“Let’s see it.”
The main screen flickered for a moment, then the image of two
Andorian cruisers came into view. Shanayda recognized one as being
Commodore Han’s flagship. Suddenly two enemy vessels came into
visual range. They slowed momentarily, each firing several volleys of
lasers at the Federation ships. The flagship, evidently unaware of the
unfolding situation, was caught with her shields down. The blasts
ripped open the forward hull, and the ensuing explosion sent
whatever was left of the once-proud ship toward the space station.
Bouncing off the station’s superior shields, the hulk careened into a
nearby Starfleet frigate. In seconds, both were little more than
expanding piles of flaming debris.
“The enemy fleet is concentrating their fire on our vessels,” Connor
called out. “They seem to be ignoring the station.”
“And our people?”
“Four cruisers and a frigate destroyed, with two destroyers without
main power. Only the attack transport Tolstoy and the light cruiser
Arkansas are currently returning fire.”
“Time to intercept?”
“A full minute,” Frahm said, his fingers moving across the helm
console. “I’ve even got the control thrusters running at maximum. It’s
not much, but it’s pushing us a little faster.”
On the screen, Shanayda and the rest watched as another
Federation starship disintegrated under the combined fire of no less
than four enemy vessels.
“The Arkansas has exploded,” Commander Connor yelled.
“Come on . . .” Shanayda said quietly through gritted teeth, trying
to will the Neptune to go faster.
“Enemy vessels are moving off.”
“What?”
Michael, looking dumbfounded, turned to the captain. “They’re . . .
they’re just moving off, continuing on course out of the system. I
don’t get it.”
Shanayda tried to collect his thoughts. “It must have been a hit-andrun attack.”
“They easily outnumbered us, though,” Connor replied. “Why not
finish the job?”
“You’re complaining?” the captain asked in disbelief, watching as
Ensign de Wolf pulled himself back into the communications station
“Not at all, sir. It’s just . . . puzzling.”
Tasting fresh blood on his lips, Shanayda wiped at his face with his
sleeve. “No argument there.”
96
“Sir, I’m receiving communications,” de Wolf’s shaken voice said.
The captain dabbed the last of the blood from the small wound.
“Patch us through to the station.”
“Sir, it’s not from the station. It’s from them . . . the intruders.”
“Come again?”
“Ship-to-ship communications. They’re . . . talking to one another.”
“Probably congratulating themselves,” Michael groaned, holding
onto his side. “I think that fall to the deck must have broken a rib.”
“De Wolf, record everything you’re hearing in the ship’s computer!
With any luck, maybe we can finally get to the bottom of who these
people are. Then call down to sickbay . . . get someone up here to
attend to the commander.”
“Aye, sir,” the ensign replied, turning back to his console.
“We’re arriving back at Delta VII, sir.”
“Slow to maneuvering thrusters, helm,” Captain Shanayda said
with exhaustion as he eased slowly back into his chair. The view
screen was filled with the debris of damaged starships. Behind it all,
the powerless station in orbit of Delta VII looked untouched. “De
Wolf, keep recording the enemy broadcasts, but open a channel to
anyone of our units capable of receiving. Tell them we’re standing by
to assist.”
Chapter 9
Stardate 15308.01
Office of the President, United Federation of Planets, Rissa F. Lyn,
Paris, Earth
“Madam President, the commander of Starfleet and his staff are
here to see you.”
Rissa Lyn, of the planet Alpha Centauri B, looked out the tall
windows of her office and surveyed the peacefulness of fall in Paris.
The trees lining the avenues Pierre Loti and Anatole France had
turned into a spectrum of colors ranging from yellow to orange. The
grass of the serene park surrounding the tower, while still a crisp
green, was starting to become littered with the fallen leaves as light
gusts of wind blew them free of the tall branches above. As the trees
swayed, it reminded her of times in her youth when she would spend
long hours of the day beneath similar foliage on Alpha Centauri
reading fables of bygone eras. Now, with the weight of the worlds of
the Federation on her middle-aged shoulders, she could only exhale
a mournful sigh for the simpler times that had passed away so long
ago. Turning away from the peaceful scene, she smiled warmly as the
commander in chief of Starfleet and his entourage entered her office.
“Admiral Walton,” she said to the gray-haired man who looked far
older than his years. “Thank you taking the time to see me.”
“Of course, Madam President,” he said, taking her hand in a light
embrace before turning to his associates. “I believe you know Admiral
Hirst from Starfleet Intelligence.”
“Yes, indeed. It’s agreeable to see you again, Admiral.”
Martin delicately bowed his head. “Madam President.”
Turning to the tall, bright-eyed female officer of the group, Fleet
Admiral Walton presented his final companion. “This is Rear Admiral
Grooms of Alpha Centauri, commander of the First Combined Fleet.
I’ve asked her here as a representative of our forces along the
spinward section of Federation space.”
98
Rissa smiled at the fellow native from her home planet. First
touching the tips of her right fingers to her forehead, the president
then presented the hand, palm up, to the admiral. “Greetings,
Admiral Grooms.”
In response to the traditional Alpha Centauri greeting, Grooms
mimicked the gesture, placing her hand, downturned palm, over the
president’s. “It is an honor, Madam President, to meet you.”
Turning to the final member of the Admirals group, a middle-aged
human stepped forward. “I’m Fleet Captain Vargas of Starfleet
Intelligence, madam President. I’ll be heading up Admiral Grooms’
information network.”
Spinning slowly, President Lyn extended an arm to a circle of
waiting chairs. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
Once everyone had seated themselves, Rissa stepped into highbacked chair, resting her elbows on the armrests as her ceremonial
robes flowed over the edges. “Again, I apologize for summoning you
all the way here to Paris, Admiral Walton. But once I received your
message that you had something to report on the invaders
threatening our border worlds, I thought it only proper to hear of it in
person.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Walton nodded. “I thought you might.”
“Then please begin.”
“As you know, subsequent to the battle that took place at Delta VII
in October, the starship Neptune was able to capture several minutes
of radio transmissions between ships in the enemy fleet. We’ve also
had two other starships submit recordings of similarly coded
transmissions in the last month.”
“I do,” Rissa said with a nod at the pause. “Go on.”
Walton looked at Martin Hirst and nodded before continuing. “As
you also know, Starfleet Intelligence has operatives working near the
planet Babel as we speak, gathering data on the intruders from a
civilian standpoint.”
“I am.”
Walton looked briefly to Hirst again. “Approximately two weeks
ago, our operatives on Babel came into contact with a civilian salvage
captain claiming to have come into possession of several components
of alien technology. Upon further investigation by our covert team,
these artifacts were found to have originated from the remains of a
vessel that was found adrift several parsecs from the planet in
unclaimed space. Though it was much too fragile to be towed to a
safe haven, our operative team nonetheless was able to recover
several pieces of alien technology from what we believe was a small
warship. As no Federation vessel was listed as operating in that area
over the last several months, we don’t know how the vessel came to
be where it was and in the condition it was in. Regardless, several key
components were removed and secretly brought back to our
intelligence offices on Babel.”
“Please, continue.”
“In short, Madam President, we were able to repair some of the
components from the warship to a functioning state. Most
importantly was a partially functioning communications console. One
we fed the coded transmissions received from the Neptune through
it, we sent the compiled data over to the linguistic specialists at the
Vulcan Science Academy.”
Intrigued, Rissa leaned forward, afraid that she might miss
something if she was too far away. “And what did the Science
Academy have to report?”
Hirst saw the excitement on her face, and was disappointed that he
didn’t have more to report. “Not much, I’m afraid. The exact text of
the transmissions was still heavily garbled. Using ancient texts from a
half-dozen worlds as a reference, the Vulcans were able to put
together only a few vital pieces of information, chiefly the name of
the aliens’ race—the Romulans.”
“The Romulans?” she all but whispered. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“Nor have many others, apparently,” Admiral Walton began. “The
only reason we have is because of what little data we’ve gathered in
the last few months. We believe the Romulan military serves
someone called the praetor. We’re not sure if this is a person, a deity,
or something in between. It does appear that, whoever or whatever it
is, the Romulans hold them in extremely high regard. We also believe
they are in possession of a vast amount of territory just beyond the
southeastern border of Federation space, possibly as large as or larger
than the Federation.”
100
“And their intentions are what . . . invasion?”
Hirst nodded. “That seems to be the case, but we can’t say for sure.
All we know is that the Romulans strike fast, at seemingly random
targets, and then disappear before we can gather much data.”
“And their attacks are becoming more bold,” Admiral Grooms said,
her soft voice laced with unmistakable resolve. “Delta VII is well away
from the edge of Federation space in that quadrant. We’ve had a
presence there for nearly five years, and haven’t come into contact
with vessels like that before. That means the Romulans are traveling
much farther into Federation space than simply crossing the
borders.”
“And if they continue to have the success they had at Delta,” Fleet
Captain Vargas added, “there’s no reason for them to halt that
advance.”
Sighing, Rissa slipped from her chair and headed back to the tall
windows of her office and colorful trees. Where once she’d seen the
oranges and yellows of the leaves, all she saw now was red . . . the red
of blood. “And you think these skirmishes are a prelude to a full-scale
invasion?” she asked without turning from the view.
“We believe so,” Walton replied. “Starfleet feels the Romulans are
testing the waters, trying to figure out where we’re weakest.”
“And what do you propose to do about it?” she asked.
“To put it bluntly, Madam President, we need to make the water
less comfortable. With your approval, Admiral Grooms will take the
First Combined Fleet and deploy them near the established border of
Federation space. We’re confident that a show of extreme force will
calm the Romulans’ taste for conquest.”
Rissa turned, nodding as she contemplated the plan. “And suppose
it backfires on us, Admiral. What if, instead, we provoke these
Romulans into a much bloodier conflict? I need not remind you all of
the delicate web that binds our new Federation together. To plunge
us all into war so quickly after our conception is . . . is unimaginable.
What kind of pattern would that weave for other, non-member
worlds to witness? I believe I speak for all the Federation when I say
that we did not form this alliance to become dictators waging war in
the name of peace throughout the galaxy.”
“We’re simply talking about setting up a defensive border, Madam
President,” Walton said calmly.
“And how many of those thinly-veiled borders have caused the
oppressed to lash out? Too many, I think. No, Admiral. I believe now
is not the time for defensive measure, not when we have yet to try a
more diplomatic approach. We know their name, and that might be
the first step in forming a peace with the Romulans.”
“With all due respect, Madam President, I’m not sure the Romulans
are interested in peace,” Admiral Hirst said. “From all the data
Starfleet Intelligence has gathered, there is a definite pattern of
conquest to their attacks.”
“From very limited data, as you’ve stated,” Rissa countered. Pursing
her lips, she glided back to her chair. “Admiral Walton, I would not for
one second discount your opinions of these invaders. In fact, I believe
Starfleet would be well advised to strengthen our forces inside
Federation space. Whether we face invasion or not, the primary duty
of Starfleet is to explore the unknown, and there is so much unknown
out there in the vastness of space. So for the immediate future, I
would like to increase the security afforded to our member worlds.
This will have the effect of calming frayed nerves over the recent
attacks, and serve to assure the members of the Federation that their
safety and security is of paramount importance to this
administration. I would also not be opposed to the tightening of
restrictions on merchant shipping in and around the systems near our
borders, and by that I mean all our borders. To simply impose
restrictions on a single sector or quadrant could cause undue concern
for many. I wish to avoid that.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Walton said, partially satisfied that he could at least
fortify some of the installations currently under threat of Romulan
incursions. He could also begin the construction of new starships and
outposts, something he agreed with the president was sorely needed
in all areas of Federation space. If some extras happened to be funneled
toward the Federation border near what was likely Romulan space, so
much the better. We could still be prepared without overtly looking the
part.
Rissa nodded. “Very well. I will take this information to the
Federation Council. I have no doubts that a committee will be formed,
102
the primary goal of which will be the normalization of relations with
the Romulan people. I’m quite sure anything Admirals Hirst or
Grooms could provide would be invaluable in the council’s efforts
toward that goal.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hirst and Grooms said in unison, with Wil Vargas
nodding in silence.
“I believe the first step in our endeavors toward a peaceful solution
would be to present a clear yet positive message to the Romulan
people, one that should be delivered in the most unobtrusive of ways
with the least likely possibility of being misconstrued,” the president
continued. “Admiral Walton, how would you suggest we do that?”
“Warp probes would best fit those requirements, I believe. They’re
unmanned, unarmed, and fast.”
Admiral Grooms nodded in agreement. “We could launch them
from our forward-deployed units toward what we believe is Romulan
space. But, being that we don’t know the exact borders of their space,
or the location of any of their star systems, we’d need to launch
several dozen of them to make sure the message is received in a
timely fashion.”
“I’ll get in contact with our covert team on Babel,” Admiral Hirst
added. “Perhaps they can provide us with a handful of bearings for
the probes. That would significantly reduce the margin of error.”
President Lyn nodded in agreement. “Then it seems we have a
working plan. How long until the probes can be deployed, Admiral
Walton?”
Walton mulled the contributing factors over in his mind for a
handful of seconds. “My initial estimate would be no less than a
month. That gives everyone involved time to program the probes’
onboard linguistic databases, course and speed data, and to transport
them to our outlying starships and outposts for launch.”
Rissa nodded. “The Federation Council will likely take the same
amount of time to formulate what should be done with regard to
diplomatic ventures. Of course, they’ll wait on the data the probes
return before they make a final decision. This is all very good. Let’s
proceed immediately.” As she rose from her chair, the assembled
officers did the same. “I’d like your initial report on these matters
within a week, Admiral Walton.”
Reaching out to grasp her hand, Rom took it in a gentle shake.
“You’ll have it, Madam President.”
***
Incoming subspace communication . . .
Priority: UNCLASSIFIED
Stardate 15310.16
FROM: The Office of the Commander In Chief, Starfleet, Fleet
Admiral Rom Walton
TO: All Commanders, Starships and Starbase, Starfleet
SUBJ: ZONE OF TRANSPORT ESCORT
Reference: (A) Mobilization of all Starfleet forces in response to the
establishment of Fleet Alert Status level 2; stardate 15310.01
Due to the numerous disappearances of both private and
commercial vessels operating near space that is currently being
contested by Federation and Romulan forces, the following
regulations and restrictions are now established as of this stardate:
1. A Zone of Transport Escort now exists. This new zone will range
from the planet Ectair to Starbase 10 system, and will cover all areas
of space, Federation, neutral, or other, galactically east of that
border.
2. Under no circumstances will any merchant or civilian vessel enter
this area, unless such vessels are deployed in a convoy, and only when
those convoys are under the direct protection of Starfleet Command
or forces operating under their direct control.
3. All convoys, before departing their assigned ports of call, must
first log all planned routes of travel with Federation Security
personnel at the nearest established Federation starbase or outpost
104
in relation to the convoy’s point of origin. In extreme cases, said
merchant vessels may also report to Federation starships of the class
of “medium cruiser” or higher, as such vessels are commonly
deployed with high-ranking Starfleet officers and their staff. This will
be done on a case-by-case basis as the situation dictates, and should
not be used when other means of flight logging are available.
4. All designated convoys must immediately check in with
Federation Security personnel upon their arrival at the intended
destination.
5. All convoys will be escorted by the appropriate number of
Starfleet vessels required to protect all assets of said convoy. The
number of Starfleet vessels present in the convoy will be dictated by
the overall size of the convoy, value of the goods being transported,
the amount of resistance assumed or known to exist along the lines
of transport, and other such factors that will arise on a case-by-case
basis between the vessel masters and Federation Security forces. It
should be understood that all Starfleet vessels assigned to convoy
duty will be operating under “high alert” conditions, as outlined in
Reference (A).
6. In addition to the Starfleet vessels escorting such convoys, newly
formed Starfleet Marine detachments will also be posted on any
escorted vessel while it is en route to its intended destination. The
ratio of Marines to civilians assigned to such vessels will be
determined by the size of the vessel, the value of the goods being
transported, and other such factors that will arise on a case-by-case
basis, as determined by Federation or Starfleet personnel attached to
the convoy.
7. No deviation or unauthorized departure from preapproved
routes of travel will be tolerated under any circumstance by
Federation Security forces or Starfleet Command. Any such
deviations or departures will be punishable by seizure of cargo,
personnel, vessels, and/or forfeiture of trade certifications belonging
to all involved offenders.
8. All cargo masters and civilian captains are notified to adjust their
travel and transportation timelines in order to accommodate these
new restrictions. Starfleet Command, operating under strict orders
from the Federation Council, makes no financial guarantees on any
goods or personnel being transported within this zone. Starfleet
Command will take all required precautions while escorting civilian
vessels. Also, any such conflicts that may arise from forces deemed
unfriendly toward Federation forces or civilian convoys they are
protecting cannot be anticipated with a high degree of certainty.
Vessel masters and their associated corporations should now
consider themselves aware of these facts and plan accordingly.
9. More detailed instructions for the transportation of goods,
services, and personnel inside this newly established zone will be
transmitted shortly.
***
Stardate 15401.02
Steeping onto the bridge, Captain Ellis Coombs surveyed the chaos
around him with pride. The bridge crew—as well as a number of
technicians—were scurrying about as they made their final
preparations before moving the newly christened Enterprise out of
the orbital repair and reconditioning facility.
When Coombs and a small contingent of officers had first beamed
aboard her three months before, the ship was in a sorry state of
repair. After nearly ten years of storage in a backwater basin near
Regulus, the old girl—named Shenandoah at that time—was in dire
need of attention. An older design, harkening back to the days of
space travel before the NX class and its predecessors defined the
“new” look of starship dynamics, the Shenandoah was a bulbous,
immense cylindrical shape, not at all much different from the seagoing submarines of a century ago. Now, after three months of
laborious work by Starfleet engineers from a half-dozen races,
despite however old her exterior might still look, her innards were of
the latest design. New computer cores had been installed, and every
access point and screen was replaced. Every stateroom had been
brought up to current Starfleet standards, and all rec-rooms had been
both enlarged and outfitted with the latest in leisure activities.
Mechanically, the navigation deflector and the sensor palettes had
106
been upgraded, and four arrays of new laser banks and an accelerator
cannon was installed. The two antiquated warp nacelles she was
originally equipped with had recently been replaced by four nacelles
of the newest design, and with the new Type III warp core feeding
them, it afforded the ship nearly ten times the power she’d had in a
previous life. And there was the experimental Type IV laser turret
installed on her ventral side, giving her 360 degrees of fire from the
two high-powered emitters.
And this new Enterprise—along with the handful of other Yorktownclass ships being recommissioned—would need it. They were to be a
new breed of space fighter carriers, forward-deployed in small, selfsustaining task groups, part of Starfleet’s new mobilization effort.
The Enterprise would be the first, followed by the Lexington, and
several months from now, the Oriskany. Even the Yorktown herself
would join her sisters. Starfleet hadn’t had the time to commission
whole new classes, and with the other member races devoid of capital
ships, the old Yorktown class—much like the smaller Daedalus class—
had been resurrected from the dead for just that purpose.
And now she had her crew. Captain Coombs looked at them, young
and old—representing not only a dozen Federation races but, he was
sure, the very best Starfleet had to offer. Each was busy at their
station, making sure everything was in order before they fired up the
impulse engines for the first time in nearly three months. But this was
no simple test to see if they worked. This time the Enterprise was
getting underway, the first time in over a decade, and the pride-filled
crew was going to make sure it went off without a hitch.
Damn good people.
“Captain,” the voice of the ship’s first officer, Commander Chris
Pinkerton, said from the starboard side of the circular command
center. “We’re nearly ready.”
Coombs held up a hand. “As you were, Chris. I’m in no great hurry.
The Lexington won’t be in position to enter the dock for another day.
We’ve got time.”
“Of course, sir.” The commander smiled, then turn to regard the
bridge as if it were the first time. “I think she’s going to turn out all
right, sir,” he said with approval.
“You’ve got a knack for understatement, Commander. Tell me, has
there been any word from Starfleet Tactical?”
Pinkerton nodded. “Yes. Just this morning, in fact. They’ve assured
us our new fighter wing will be ready as soon as we are. The pilots are
doing well, as far as I can see from their efficiency reports. I’ll have
them sent down to your quarters.”
“Excellent. And Commander Chambers?”
Chris smiled. “Carl’s down in engineering. I think he’s still ogling the
new warp core.”
Captain Coombs nodded slowly. “I have half a mind to join him.”
“I’ll keep everything in order here until you get back, sir.”
Coombs patted the first officer on the shoulder, too quickly for
anyone else present to notice—not that it mattered. The bond
between the two had been nearly instantaneous since they’d first met
a year before. Then again, so had Coombs’s relationship with a great
number of the Enterprise’s officers—and Chief Engineer Carl
Chambers had been no different. “I’m sure you will, Chris.” With that,
Ellis made his way to the starboard turbo elevator.
108
Chapter 10
Stardate 15406.15
June 2154
“Captain’s log: supplemental. We’ve arrived at the edge of system
B-117 ahead of schedule and have reduced speed on our way to Outer
System Defense Outpost 5. The frigate Yarnton is on her way out to
greet us, and she’ll be a welcome sight. We haven’t laid eyes on
another Starfleet vessel since we departed the inner core of
Federation worlds two weeks ago, and the thought of comingling
with another crew has everyone on board the Ajax more animated
than usual. I have to admit, I’m feeling it a bit myself.”
“Captain Durbin,” Commander Garrett announced from the tactical
station. “Federation starship approaching. It’s the Yarnton.”
“Understood,” Chasin said. “Communications officer, open a
channel.”
“Channel open, sir,” Lieutenant Cordeiro replied. “I’ve got Captain
Shrena.”
“Put her through.” The image on the main viewer changed from the
boxy, Degbaxis-class Tellarite frigate to the vessel’s control room.
Captain Durbin had never seen the interior of a Tellarite vessel before,
and from what little he could see of it now, he hoped he’d never have
to serve on one. The compartment appeared hexagonal in shape,
crammed with monitors, with angled consoles on each wall, and a
single turbo elevator taking up the aft bulkhead. There was no central
command chair, and it appeared that Captain Shrena was herself
manning a station not unlike the other three Tellarites in Chasin’s
view.
“Captain Durbin, I presume,” the soft, feminine voice of the snoutnosed captain sang pleasantly.
“Captain Shrena,” Chasin replied with a warm smile.
“Welcome to B-117, Captain. On behalf of OSDO 5, I send you
greetings. We’ve been ordered to escort you to the station.”
“Understood, Captain. The Ajax will take up station beside you.”
“Very well. It’s nice to have the Ajax here, finally.”
Durbin cocked his head in surprise. “Something I should know
about, Captain?”
The Tellarite nodded, her deep-set opal eyes unblinking. “Then you
haven’t heard?”
Chasin shook his head subtly.
“Three days ago, two Vulcan frigates departed OSDO 5 on a routine
patrol of a nearby sector. They encountered two Romulan vessels of
nearly equal mass. The Romulans made short work of one of the
vessels—no survivors recovered. The other ship, the V’len, managed
to escape, but not unscathed. Nearly half her crew was lost in the
engagement. We feared the worst—that the Romulans would follow
the V’len back to the station and attack us. So far, they’ve not been
seen since.”
Captain Durbin nodded. “How many other vessels are there at the
station now?”
“The V’len is undergoing repairs, but spare parts are all but
nonexistent out here in the border regions. The Vulcans have a Surkaclass starship on the way to relieve her, but they’re still a week out.
The Andorians have two Taholsin destroyers, and we Tellarites have
only the Yarnton. The Ajax will be the first United Earth vessel
assigned to this base, and by far the most powerful.”
“Which means we’ll be called upon first if there’s any trouble,”
Chasin retorted.
What little the female Tellarite could smile, she did. “I do not envy
you that task, Captain. But I will do my best to ensure that the Yarnton
is up to the task of lending a hand.”
“I’m sure you will, Captain. I’ve taken the liberty of going over some
of your previous reports and logs. The Yarnton has certainly seen her
fair share of action, and been quite successful in them.”
“Luck and a good crew will give you such results,” she joked.
“Amen to that.”
“I only wish it weren’t necessary. Starfleet was chartered as a
primarily scientific armada, not a battle fleet. I, for one, would very
much like to see it return to its roots.”
Chasin nodded in full agreement. “As would I, Captain.”
110
“Have you heard anything concerning the peace delegation sent
into Romulan space?”
“No,” Chasin was unhappy to report. “They’re three weeks overdue
for their report to the Federation Council. And, with the automated
probes we sent out still unanswered, Starfleet Command has no
choice but to fear the worst at this point. They’ve deployed several
more cruisers to the border areas in hopes of curtailing further
aggressions, but from what you’ve just told me about the Vulcans’
scuffle, it may be too little too late.”
Captain Shrena nodded slowly. “Still, it is a wise precaution. And the
protection of B-117 is our responsibility.”
Chasin nodded in understanding. “It is. We may find ourselves
acting as a link in a very long chain of defensive outposts if the
situation with the Romulans becomes worse.”
“And with the Ajax here, I’m sure we will be more than ready.”
“Thank you, Captain Shrena. Your words do my ship and crew
honor.”
“Your record speaks well of both, Captain,” she smiled. “I, too, have
been doing some studying.”
“Of course,” he said with a subtle smile. “We’ll come alongside and
follow you to the station.”
“Understood, Captain. Yarnton out.”
***
“Commodore Riddle, it’s a pleasure, sir.” Taking the commodore’s
hand in his own, Captain Durbin shook it firmly.
“And you as well, Captain Durbin. I trust your journey to OSDO 5
was uneventful?”
“Uneventful, sir? It was downright monotonous,” Chasin joked.
“Not even a minor course correction was required to get here.”
“Well, I’d like to think the tedium will continue, but I fear we’re all in
for a fight sooner or later.”
Durbin nodded in Captain Shrena’s direction at the far end of the
reception hall. “Captain Shrena informed me about what happened
to the Vulcan vessels a few weeks ago.”
“Yes,” Robert Riddle said with a troubled expression. “Terrible what
happened to them. The ship that was destroyed was the Solok. I knew
her captain well. A good man . . . would’ve had a fine career in
Starfleet. As it was . . . well . . . it was cut too short.”
“And the V’len?”
“Being repaired as we speak.” The commodore then waved his halfempty flute of champagne around the colorfully decorated hall.
“Most of their crew isn’t even here. Too busy tending to their ship,
and all.”
“Vulcan pride, sir, is well-documented.”
“Yes,” Riddle said before taking a slow drink. “Ever worked with
them before?”
“A few times,” Chasin said. He caught a rather attractive
lieutenant’s eye for a moment, but then lost her in a crowd of
Andorians. “Not as much as others.”
“For the most part, they’re not all that different from us.”
Captain Durbin chuckled. “Don’t let them hear you say that.”
Riddle expelled a brief chortle. “Oh, on the surface they’re cool . . .
collected. They may even come off like walking computers at times.
But underneath, you can see it in their eyes.”
“What’s that, Commodore?”
“Feelings . . . ones of love, pain, regret . . .”
“And?”
The commodore examined his glass for a long moment before
responding. “And revenge. And they’ll have it, too, if given half the
chance.”
“The Romulans.”
“Not just them, Captain. Anyone. Vulcans are nothing if not
efficient. You can be sure that when they do you in, it’ll be with as little
or as much pain as necessary to get the job done.”
Durbin, feeling an odd chill, denoted a sense of pride in the
commodore’s words. “You approve, then?”
The commodore let out a heavy sigh. “I understand, Captain. An
altogether different thing.”
“Yes, sir.”
But Commodore Riddle could see beyond the well-mannered
captain’s exterior. Some would even say he had a gift for it, which is
112
why no one ever had a short conversation with the man. “What do
you know about the Romulans, Chasin?”
“Aside from the official reports, sir, nothing. I thought that was why
the Ajax was out here.”
“Having a cruiser out here, especially one as new as the Ajax, is a
huge morale boost, Captain. No question of that. Nor is there any
doubt about her scientific and exploration capabilities, things that
indeed are at the very core of what it means to be a Starfleet officer.
And, I should point out, the same goes where her captain and crew
are concerned, I can assure you. However, any discoveries we make
out here from this point on are purely secondary to our primary
objective.”
“Sir?”
“The Romulans, Captain. I mean to stop their incursions into our
space in this sector, and the Ajax is the linchpin that will ensure that.”
“But—the council,” Chasin said in bewilderment. “We can’t just—”
“Can’t just what, Captain? Go after them like they’ve gone after us?
Decimate their forces the same as they’ve done ours? Oh, I think we
can.”
Captain Durbin had felt the same way, even if he’d never acted on
those feelings. Ever since the destruction of the forces at Delta VII,
nearly everyone in Starfleet worthy of the uniform felt it. “But,
without authorization from Starfleet . . . is it the right thing to do?
Morally speaking.”
Riddle looked around the room once more, his eyes falling on the
officers from a half-dozen races. “Look around, Captain. What do you
see here?”
As if taking in the scene for the first time, the captain did just that.
The semicircular hall was perhaps fifty meters long, and just over half
as wide. Draped from the ceiling were the brightly colored flags of the
five founding members of the Federation—Tellar, Vulcan, Terra,
Alpha Centauri, and Andor. And each was symbolized by at least one
starship at the station. Their crews, while not huddled beneath their
respective banners, would nonetheless occasionally glance skyward.
There were a few dozen transparent circular tables strewn about,
each emblazoned with the arched insignia of OSDO 5. A large buffet
was in the back of the room, filled with delicacies from each of the
worlds.
“Looks almost like a political conference,” Durbin said as he turned
back to the commodore.
“Yes, it does very much, indeed,” Riddle said with approval.
That was when it all came together in Durbin’s mind. “This was
Starfleet’s idea, wasn’t it?”
“How so?” the commodore asked, evidently pleased with himself.
“Look at this,” he said, waving his arm about the hall. “The
Federation Council would never unanimously agree to go to war with
Romulans without unambiguous data from their field commanders.”
Riddle raised a nearly empty glass to the officers milling about, but
none noticed. “And we’ve got some of their finest here, I assure you.
Captain, what you’re seeing here is the very tip of what many believe
will shortly become a very long, very potent spear in this quadrant.”
“A battle group?”
Riddle nodded with pride once again. “OSDSO 5 has the singular
distinction of being the command and control station for the First
Combined Fleet.”
Chasin was beside himself. “Admiral Grooms?”
“Is on her way as we speak, with ten more starships from the
member races represented here this evening.”
“But the peace delegation the ambassadors sent into Romulan
space . . . nearly a hundred people—”
“—are dead,” the commodore replied quietly. “Murdered, without
ever having delivered their message of peace.”
Another chill ran up Chasin’s spine. “Starfleet is sure of it?”
The commodore somberly nodded, sipping at his drink once more
before continuing. “Starfleet Intelligence notified all forwarddeployed base commanders two days ago. So you see . . . that word
that’s floating around in your mind . . . the one everyone’s too afraid
to say, but that we all know is coming . . . it’s very nearly upon us.”
Durbin’s mouth went dry as he spoke it. “War.”
“There’s very little to stop it at this point. Anything else the
Romulans do from here on out will only expedite the process. And,
given their propensity for aggression, it’s only a matter of time.”
“And Starfleet believes the Romulans will attack here first?”
114
“There’s no telling. Starfleet Intelligence is giving OSDO 5 a fiftyfifty chance that a major offensive will take place somewhere near
here in the next two weeks. Thus, the pending arrival of Admiral
Grooms and her forces.”
It was nearly too much for Durbin to take in at once. “And . . . our
orders, sir?”
“Keep the line until they get here, no matter the cost, Captain.”
Suddenly remembering the drink in his hand, Durbin downed it in a
quick gulp. “Suddenly I don’t feel much like partying.”
Commodore Riddle placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “I thought
not. Most of the crews here know very little about what’s going on.
But inviting them all here to celebrate your arrival gave me a good
excuse to get all the commanding officers in the same place without
raising too many suspicions. Starfleet is still keeping the majority of
their movements under the proverbial radar, and I’m intent on
keeping the status quo . . . to a certain extent.”
“Sir?”
“I never believed in keeping my commanders in the dark, Chasin.
Their crews are their own responsibility, but the commanders are
mine. If I’m to order them into battle, they’re going to know full well
what they’re up against, and Starfleet can court-martial me after the
fact ‘til they turn blue in the face.”
Nodding, but still processing the information, Chasin tried to smile.
“Come on, Captain. Let’s get Captain Shrena and the others away
from here as discreetly as possible. I’ve got some things to show all of
you, and they’ve waited far too long as it is.”
***
Stardate 15409.28
“Captain Ericksen, we’re within visual range of the Calvert Array.”
Nodding, Ericksen, leaning over Chief Engineer Eberhard’s station
on the bridge of the cruiser Hamburg, turned to his sensor officer. “Put
it on the main viewer, please, Mr. Davis.”
Launched nearly a decade ago, the deep space communications
array had stopped broadcasting nearly two weeks ago for no
apparent reason. The cruiser Merlin—an identical Lincoln class to the
Hamburg—had been dispatched to investigate and repair the array.
However, the damage was far more severe than anticipated, and the
Hamburg had been ordered to ferry a new array into position.
When the image of the array appeared on the view screen, Captain
Ericksen wasn’t surprised a replacement had been ordered. Two of
the four backup solar arrays were missing, and a third was heavily
damaged. The fusion reactor, capable of providing the assembly with
power for decades, was now a shattered shell, its highly radioactive
core leaking a trail of noxious green particles. The main transmitter
antenna appeared to be in one piece, but several of the smaller dishes
had been crushed. Just beyond the array, the cruiser Merlin was
keeping a safe distance.
“Lieutenant Martin, hail the Merlin.”
“Aye sir,” the communications officer replied.
“Speculation, Mr. Davis?”
The Hamburg’s first officer, Commander Fred Davis, studied the
visual intently from the science console before responding. “Could be
the result of a meteor shower. According to astrogation records, one
passed through here not too long ago.”
“You don’t believe the station came under attack, then?”
Davis shook his head. “I don’t think so, sir. However, it’s hard to
discern facts though all the radiation. Visual scans show no evidence
of weapons scarring, and there’re multiple impact cavities along the
entire length of the array.”
“So, unless the Romulans are throwing rocks, this looks natural.”
Davis nodded. “I believe so.”
“Captain Ericksen,” Tom Martin said from the communications
console to the left of the view screen. “I’ve got Captain Berglowe of
the Merlin. Audio and visual.”
“On screen, Lieutenant.”
The image of the damaged array was replaced by what was almost
a mirror of the Hamburg’s bridge. The only discernable difference was
the yellow railings that lined the upper portion of the command deck.
116
Martin much preferred the blue of his bridge. Sitting in the command
chair, the salt-and-peppered Captain Sven Berglowe smiled back.
“Captain Berglowe,” Ericksen began, “what’s a nice captain like you
doing all the way out here?”
“Good to see you, Tom,” Berglowe snorted jovially. “Sorry to pull
you all the way out into the boonies. I really wish we could have done
something to repair the Calvert Array.”
“By the looks of it, it’s a miracle the array is here at all.”
Berglowe nodded. “We’ve been babysitting this thing for a few
days, watching it leak more and more radiation each passing hour. I
had an emergency repair team beam over three days ago, but there
was nothing they could do. In fact, half the team is still in
decontamination in sickbay.”
“I don’t doubt it. Prognosis?”
“My first officer, Commander Charles, took the worst of it when his
suit was torn open. The doctor says he’ll pull through, but there’s been
some cellular damage.”
“Sorry to hear that, Captain,” Ericksen said with understanding.
“Were they able to download the station’s logs?”
“Some of them. The onboard computer was pretty banged up.”
“And you’ve had time to decode them?”
Sven nodded, his face showing concern. “From what we can tell,
Calvert was the target of a meteor strike.”
“That jives with what my science officer can see. A force of nature.”
“Uh huh,” Berglowe said doubtfully.
“And that bothers you?”
“Not in itself, no. However, the onboard computer also recorded
that the array attempted to correct its own course to avoid the
meteors.”
“It doesn’t seem like it was successful.”
“That’s the problem. From the data we were able to mine from the
damaged core, it appears that it was successful.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Ericksen replied, his curiosity
piqued.
“Exactly why we’ve been holding station close to the array, despite
the radiation readings.”
“You suspect some kind of foul play?”
Berglowe shrugged. “All I know is that two days ago we received
communique directly from Starfleet Intelligence advising us to hold
our position and not to attempt to re-board the array under any
circumstances.”
“But communications arrays fall under the privy of Galaxy
Exploration Command, not Intelligence.”
“Unless someone is using the array covertly. And we have no proof
either way.”
Sighing heavily, Ericksen bobbed his head. “Well, whatever they
were using it for, they won’t be able to continue doing so until we get
the new array deployed. Once we position the new subspace
transmitter, we’ll take the Calvert Array in tow. Maybe the
technicians at Outpost 3 can figure it out.”
“The sooner the better, Captain,” Berglowe agreed. “We’ll stand by
to assist you as necessary. Merlin out.” The screen blanked, replaced
once again by the damaged array and the Starfleet cruiser beyond.
“Commander Davis, get down to the cargo bay. Prep the new
transmitter for deployment. Let’s send it on her way and get out of
here.”
“Aye, sir.”
118
Chapter 11
On the bridge of the Hamburg, Captain Tom Ericksen watched the
main viewer with anticipation as the Merlin deployed the replacement
subspace transmitter. With the rear hangar doors parted, the interior
of the Lincoln-class cruiser’s bay was clearly visible. Surrounded by
floodlights, the faceted communications array lifted gently from the
deck as the internal gravity to the compartment was shut down.
Propelled by small thrusters, it glided gracefully from the Merlin, a
series of antennae unfolding from the facets as the new antenna
moved into position. A moment later, two more pods took off from
the Merlin and linked up with the first. Once connected, these outer
two modules deployed their faster-than-light amplifier dishes and
antenna masts. In seconds, the navigation lights on the array began
to flash in sequence, and Ericksen knew they were in business.
“Communications, hail the Merlin.” A moment later, the image of
Captain Berglowe appeared on the screen. “Sven, is everything up
and running?”
Berglowe nodded. “Seems so. We’ve just powered up the new array
and we’re already seeing a large deal of bandwidth allocation.”
“Looks like someone had a really important call to make.”
“I guess so,” Berglowe chuckled. “We’re making preparations to
take the old Calvert Array in tow, unless you’d care to volunteer for
the job yourself?”
“Thanks for the offer, Merlin, but I think we’ll be much happier
providing escort duties.”
“Understood. We’ll extend our shields around the array once the
tractor beam is attached. That should filter out some of the radiation
and alleviate any problems with your sensors or communications. But
since it’ll be in our bubble, you’ll be the one responsible for radioing
our success to Starfleet Command.”
Tom smiled. “I promise not to take the credit for the Merlin’s hard
work.”
“Never crossed my mind, Captain. Merlin out.”
Once the screen had changed back to the stern view of the Merlin,
Ericksen watched as the cruiser’s bright blue tractor beam sprang out
from the underside of the secondary hull. A moment later the cruiser
had the array in tow and her shields up. “Mr. Martin, has
communications cleared up?”
Martin nodded. “Yes, sir. Considerably.”
“Very good,” the captain replied as he turned to the science officer.
“Sensor report, Mr. Davis?”
“Short-range sensors show no unusual readings. Switching to longrange sensors, lateral and ventral arrays.”
Waiting patiently for the sensor readout, Ericksen watched as the
helmsman brought the Hamburg astern and slightly below the Merlin.
“Nice and easy, helm. We don’t want to get too close.”
“Sir,” Martin announced in surprise, “long-range sensors are
reporting two contacts bearing down on us fast.”
“What?”
“Confirmed, sir. Two U-type Romulan warships heading this way at
full impulse.”
“Four minutes.”
“Red alert! All hands to battle stations!”
“Why didn’t we see them before?” Lieutenant Steven Rowley asked
from the helm.
Martin was quick to respond. “Probably the radiation from the
damaged communications array.”
“Regardless, we can see them now. Let’s hope it’s not too late.
Communications, can you raise the Merlin?”
“I’ve got them, sir, but the channel is weak.”
“On screen.” The image wavered, then filled with crisscrossed lines
of static and interference. Captain Berglowe’s face was hardly
discernable in all the chaos. “Sven, are you receiving?”
“Barely,” the static-lined voice came back.
“Sven, there’re Romulans heading this way! Release the array and
get to a defensive posture!”
The garbled image of Berglowe looked puzzled for a moment, then
his eyes went wide—as if it took a few seconds for his brain to
decipher the broken message. The image then abruptly blanked out.
120
“Communications, did we lose transmission?”
“Negative, sir. It was cut off at the source.”
On the screen, Tom watched as the Merlin did as she was
instructed. Releasing the damaged communications array, she raised
her shields once more. “Helm, bring us to bear on the Romulans. We
need to take the fight far enough away from the radiation to make
communications between us the Merlin tenable.”
“Aye, sir,” Rowley replied. “Coming about to heading 144–mark-7.
Speed: one-half impulse.”
“Time to intercept the Romulans now sixty seconds,” Davis called
out from the science station.
“Weapon status?”
“Lasers and accelerator cannons online,” Lieutenant Rowley said as
he turned on the tracking and targeting sensors. “Fusion missiles one
through ten are green, missiles eleven through sixteen are fueling.
Short-range plasma cannons are online and at your command.”
“The Merlin?”
“Coming around to our stern, Captain,” Davis said. “Romulans are
within range of our lasers.”
“Fire forward laser batteries!”
Jets of white-hot energy shot out of the ball-shaped forward hulls
of both the Merlin and the Hamburg nearly simultaneously. But the
Romulans were too agile, dodging the beams as they moved away
from one another. Continuing on their trajectory, they flanked the
closely formed Federation starships, each firing beams from their
forward batteries. The blasts intended for Merlin missed, but the
Hamburg was struck on its starboard side, its shields flaring for a split
second under the impact.
“Damage to the starboard nacelle!” Chief Engineer Keava yelled
from the damage control console.
“Transfer power to the starboard shields!” Captain Berglowe
replied over the ruckus on the bridge of the Merlin. “Keep as much
power to the defensive systems as possible! Weapons officer, are the
Romulans still in range?”
“Almost, sir!”
“The Romulan vessels have crossed paths and are swinging
around,” Lieutenant Commander Attard said from the science
console.
“Helm, high-energy turn to starboard. Pursuit course.” In response,
everyone on the bridge shifted sideways as the inertial dampeners
tried in vain to keep up with the ship’s erratic movements.
“Coming hard around, sir!” the helmsman called, gripping his
station with all his strength.
“Starboard nacelle power is fluctuating rapidly,” Keava called out
in response to the heavy vibrations being felt by the crew.
Just as Captain Berglowe was about to call for a rerouting of power,
the Merlin leveled off with the Romulan directly in her field of fire.
“Mr. Medina, open fire on the Romulan vessel!”
Nodding, Mike Medina complied with everything in the Merlin’s
arsenal. The first to fire was the plasma cannons as a half-dozen bluewhite blobs of energy raced out toward the Romulan. At their
extreme range, they dissipated just before reaching the target.
However, the follow-up blasts from the primary laser cannons and the
accelerator rounds hit their mark. The Romulan’s shields flared under
the onslaught, then faded completely.
“Target’s shields are down,” Daniel Attard called triumphantly from
the science console. “Minor damage to their hull. The two Romulan
warships are continuing on their respective courses and will cross
paths in a few seconds.”
“They’re running circles around us,” Berglowe said in frustration.
We need to get the upper hand. “Helmsman, as soon as the Romulans
cross one another, I want you to perform another high-energy turn.
Get us behind one of those ships.”
“Sir,” Keava began in protest from the damage control console.
“The impulse engines are stressed enough as it is. We’ve also got
some minor buckling in the starboard warp pylon. If we strain the ship
too much, the integrity field in that section might not hold.”
“Understood, Chief. But if we don’t turn the tide of this
engagement, the Romulans are going to pick us apart piece by piece
until the starboard pylon is the only thing left! Divert power to the
integrity field from the long-range sensors. We don’t need them right
now.”
122
“And if more Romulans decide to come in and help their friends?”
Attard asked from the science console.
“Nothing we can do about it,” the captain finished as the two
Romulans on the screen passed each other once again. “Now, helm!
Hard to port!”
Both the Merlin and the Hamburg tightly turned once again, each
taking aim at one of the Romulans. But the Romulans were able to
outmaneuver the Federation opponents once again. Pivoting on their
axes, they returned fire with blasts of disruptive energy. Their first
salvos toward the Starfleet vessels missed as the Federation captains
began turning the Romulan maneuvers against them. But the
Romulans were quick to exploit Starfleet’s inexperience in space
combat. A combined series of energy blasts from both enemy vessels
brought the Merlin’s shields down completely.
On the bridge of the stricken Starfleet vessel, the weapons control
console exploded violently, sending Lieutenant Medina flailing across
the bridge to land in a crumpled pile below the science officer’s
station.
“Mike!” Captain Berglowe called out, then leapt from the command
chair and down to the deck. Quickly examining Medina, Sven could
see that the young man was still alive, but badly burned on his face
and neck.
“Casualty reports coming from decks two, three, and four, sir,” the
communications officer said frantically.
There was little time to worry about that, however. The Romulans
were sure to exploit the situation soon. “Ensign, get a medical team
up here right away. And call up Lieutenant Medina’s relief!”
“The Merlin’s shields are down, sir!” Fred Davis called out from the
Hamburg’s science station. “That Romulan targeted her bridge!”
“Life readings?” Captain Ericksen asked in horror.
“Structural damage appears to have been minor, and there are still
life signs present.”
Captain Ericksen had had enough of the cat and mouse game. It was
time to be the aggressor, and he knew precisely how to do it. Both
Romulans were about to have their backs to the Federation starships
for a brief moment, and Ericksen was going to take full advantage of
it. “Lock fusion missile on the Romulan with the previous shield
damage. We’re going to give them back some of their own medicine!”
“Fusion missiles locked,” Rowley called from the helm.
“Helm, full rotation to starboard! Bring the missile launchers to bear
on the Romulan. Once they’re clear, fire the upper laser cannons!”
The Hamburg responded deftly to the requested maneuver.
Pivoting to starboard, the fusion missile launchers—built into the
spine on the engineering hull between the warp nacelles, were now
pointing directly at the Romulan warship. In sequence, the launch
doors sprang open, and from each of the ten tubes a single warhead
was launched. Considered too slow for practical combat by many,
Ericksen knew that at nearly point blank range they would be
devastating to the Romulan vessel. As the blue-flamed missiles
reached out, many of them missed the more agile enemy vessel. But
two found their target, and the ensuing explosion gave Ericksen and
the rest of the bridge crew the satisfaction they were looking for. The
Romulan ship was knocked clear off course, and the bright green tips
of the wings were now faded to a dull gray. The follow-on blast from
the Hamburg’s laser cannons confirmed that the enemy’s shields were
down as a line of destruction was carved from bow to stern in the
bottom of the enemy vessel—the painted bird on the bottom sliced
open like a Thanksgiving turkey. Seconds later, the vessel exploded
brilliantly.
“One enemy vessel destroyed!” Daniel Attard said from the science
station.
Captain Berglowe smirked at the image of the dying Romulan ship
on the view screen. “Good job, Ericksen,” he whispered softly, then
turned his attentions to the other Romulan warship. “Status of our
target, Mr. Attard?”
“Their shields are down, but all other systems appear to be
functioning. They’ve changed course.”
“Probably trying to weasel their way out of here.”
“Confirmed,” Attard agreed. “If they maintain their heading, they’ll
go back the way they came in the system.”
124
“Toward Romulan space,” Berglowe nodded. “I don’t plan on letting
them get that far.”
“Nor does the Hamburg, it seems,” Attard said with a smile from his
console. “She’s coming alongside.”
“Message received from the Hamburg,” the ensign said from the
communications console. “Captain Ericksen is requesting to know if
we require any assistance.”
“I think it’s time to end this once and for all. Advise Captain Ericksen
that we’ll be flanking the Romulan vessel in an attempt to make her
stand down.”
“Aye, sir. Sending.”
As he took the Merlin to port, the Hamburg swung to the starboard
side of the Romulan vessel. The enemy vessel was fast, but the
Federation cruisers were easily able to keep up with her at full
impulse. They hung back slightly, keeping the Romulan constantly in
their combined field of fire.
“Communications, try to hail the Romulan commander. Advise him
to stand down his weapons. He’s got no escape. If he agrees to come
with us to Outpost 5, he and his crew will be treated fairly.”
“Sending now, sir.”
But there was little time to wait for a response. Upper hatches on
the Romulan ship opened—much like the fusion missile launchers on
the Hamburg had—and three missiles were quickly launched. Two
went wild, missing the Federation starships completely. The third hit
the stern of the Merlin, buckling the shields near the aft shuttlebay
and sending a trail of sparks shooting from the starship’s stern.
“I believe we’ve got our answer,” Berglowe said as he tightly
gripped his command chair’s armrests. “Weapons officer, fire main
laser cannons at the enemy vessel. Let’s see if that changes his mind.”
Even after the blasts took down the Romulan shields, the enemy
commander was still defiant. Another salvo of missiles were fired—
but this time all four of the rockets missed. This time the Hamburg
was the one to return fire with her short-range plasma cannons. The
blue bolts pummeled the port wing of the Romulan vessel, sending
what was likely the warp nacelle on that side spiraling away from the
hull.
“Hail them again,” Sven said, hoping that the Romulan commander
would see reason. The Romulan appeared to be spinning out of
control, but when its bow was pointed at the Hamburg, it fired a laser
blast that managed to penetrate the starship’s already-compromised
shields. As it struck the underside of the spherical primary hull, the
Federation starship broke off from her attack run.
“Damage to the Hamburg’s impulse drive,” Commander Attard
confirmed from the Merlin’s science station. “She’s moving off.”
Sven was at a loss to understand the Romulan commander. Why
throw his life away? What was the point? “Weapons officer, return fire.
Accelerator cannons only.”
The warhead-tipped magnetically accelerator rounds launched
from the cruiser with little more than a slight reverberation under
Captain Berglowe’s feet. Their detonation, while small, was enough
to tear the Romulan to pieces. In seconds, all that was left was a mass
of twisted metal fragments.
Downcast at the outcome, Berglowe sighed heavily at the waste.
“Scan for survivors.”
Attard commanded the sensors to perform three full sweeps, but
he reported nothing was located. Not even a body could be found in
the debris field.
“Is it possible the ships are automated?” the captain asked in
confusion.
“Not likely, sir. I was getting definitive life readings from the vessel
before its destruction.”
Captain Berglowe frowned at the debris field. “Puzzling. Still, I’d like
to collect some of the fragments. Maybe it’ll give some insights to the
teams and Fleet Research.”
“I wouldn’t mind getting a look at them myself,” Attard agreed.
“Then snap to it, Commander. Let’s collect as much as we can and
get back to Outpost 4. With the Merlin’s impulse damaged and the
need for us to tow the Calvert Array back ourselves, it’s going to be a
long journey that I’d like to start as soon as possible.”
“Aye, sir.”
126
Stardate 15502.16
February 2155
“Now, isn’t this much nicer than sitting in that cramped stateroom
of yours, Captain?”
Thomas Davidson, enjoying the last few days of leave before he’d
have to report back to the cruiser Agamemnon, couldn’t agree more.
While many of his contemporaries had already been recalled to their
respective vessels, Thomas and his wife had agreed to move from
their home on Jupiter Station to OSDO 2, where his new assignment
as captain of the Agamemnon waited. As such, the choice of how to
get himself and his wife to the starbase was mostly left to the captain.
Seizing the opportunity, he’d booked passage for the two aboard the
luxury star liner SS Diana, with OSDO 2 being the ship’s last port of
call before heading back to the core worlds of the Federation.
Lying back on the deck chair near the edge of the pool, surrounded
by a small selection of families representing the Diana’s 400
passengers, Thomas looked to the endless panorama of stars beyond
the enormous transparent aluminum bubble atop the vessel.
“Everything with you is nicer, dear,” Thomas sighed as the stars
slowly shifted. Must be making a course correction. As if rewarded for
his correct deduction, a planetoid quickly swung into view. The Diana
was likely hundreds of thousands of kilometers distant from it, but
even at this distance Thomas could easily make out the swirls of white
clouds high above a dominantly green landscape. The explorer in him
wondered what world it was, while the passenger in him told him not
to care and to simply enjoy the unobstructed view. In the end, it was
the passenger who marveled in it. Besides, he guessed, it’s probably
got a methane atmosphere.
Reaching across the small divide between the two chairs, Thomas
took hold of his wife’s hand. It was cool and damp to the touch.
“You worried about something?” he asked. “Your hands only get
clammy when you’ve got something troubling you.”
“Just a little uneasy, that’s all,” Sarah replied warily. “I keep
thinking we should have an official escort or something.”
“We’re well away from the disputed region of space, honey. Heck,
even the Zone of Transport Escort is light-years away. There’s no
need to have Starfleet here. Besides,” he said, pulling her hand to his
lips for a brief kiss, “it’d just needlessly worry the passengers. We’re
here to relax. We’ll have plenty of time to worry when we get to
OSDO 2. At least they’re much closer to the border.”
“Gee,” she replied with great sarcasm, “that makes me feel so much
better.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, pivoting his body to sit up. “How about I get
you another drink? One of those Rigelian cocktails, perhaps?”
Smiling, she nodded. But when she turned her eyes up to her
husband, Thomas could see they were looking at something over his
shoulder. What’s more, her visage of pleasure had morphed into one
of confusion. Perplexed, he turned his gaze to match hers. Out in
space, from the far side of the green planet slowly drifting away from
the Diana, three small shapes were moving toward the liner. At first
they appeared as stars, but they were moving in the wrong direction.
As they began to take shape, Thomas quickly realized they were
ships, too close in formation to be Starfleet. He was suddenly filled
with a sense of dread.
As the shapes became more defined, he could see a distinct green
glow from the forward-swept wings. Having seen more than a few
recorded sensor logs in the last few months, he knew immediately
that they were Romulan vessels. Quickly reaching down, he grabbed
his wife’s hand and hauled her to her feet. “Let’s go!” As the two took
off in a sprint for the nearest turbo elevator, the first bolts of energy
from the Romulan warship reached the helpless passenger liner,
shattering the protective dome over the pool.
128
Chapter 12
Stardate 15506.10
“Captain, we’re receiving a distress signal from one of our marker
buoys in Sector 5-K.”
The Tellarite Captain Jollond quickly pivoted in his command chair
to face the communications officer. “Another one? That’s the third
this week.”
“Yes, sir. Indications are that it’s under attack.”
“Another ghost chase, I imagine,” Jollond snorted. In the previous
two encounters, the Degbaxis-class warships Glogak and Teth had
found nothing when they’d arrived at the buoys’ last reported
positions. That they were being attacked was without doubt. But
although Jollond and his crew had yet to find the perpetrators of the
destruction, there was little question who was responsible.
“Romulans,” the captain all but spat in disgust.
“A likely possibility,” Commander Floyd Dorsey reported from the
science station. “We’re close to their suspected space.”
“And the Federation has made it abundantly clear to them that this
is our space, Commander. That was the purpose of the marker buoys.
That the Romulans should so blatantly defy them is a testament to
their audacity.” Jollond turned away from his first officer in frustration
and back to the stars on the main viewer. “It is not within their rights
to claim all that is within their view, nor do they have the right to
deliberately destroy as they see fit.”
Floyd could well understand Captain Jollond’s frustrations. It’d
been nearly six months since a surprise attack by the then-unknown
aliens had killed the captain’s family during a raid. And in those six
months, Jollond had vowed to destroy every Romulan warship he
encountered, Starfleet orders be damned. That the Glogak and her
sister ship had yet to come upon one was the source of the captain’s
current frustrations. When the captain ordered the ship to come
about at red alert and set a course for the marker buoy, it came as no
surprise to anyone on the bridge.
“We’ll be in range in less than sixty seconds,” Dorsey reported.
“Slow to one-quarter impulse power. Prepare beams and
accelerator cannons.”
Even though Dorsey had reported no other craft were in the
vicinity, he wasn’t about to tell the captain that raising their defenses
was unnecessary. As the Glogak dropped out of warp, the view screen
was filled with nothing but the vastness of space.
“These are the correct coordinates?” the captain asked in
frustration.
“Yes, sir. As you suspected, it appears the buoy was completely
destroyed.”
“And there’s no debris, just as before? And no other contacts in the
area?”
“No, sir,” Dorsey said.
Jollond balled a heavy fist and smacked the armrest of his chair.
“They have eluded me once again.”
“Should I deploy another marker, sir?”
There was a low growl from the captain as he stared at the empty
viewer. Sighing, he finally waved a hand in Dorsey’s direction. “Yes,
Commander. By all means.”
Just as Floyd was about to do so, a reading emerged on his longrange scope. Quickly verifying the information with the sensors, he
relayed the information to the captain. “Sir, I’ve got a positive contact
half a light-year from our position.”
Jollond’s reaction was instantaneous. He yanked his chair sideways
to face the science officer, a scowl on his face. “Romulans?”
“I can’t be sure, sir. Not at this distance.”
“Then we shall close that gap. Relay the coordinates to the helm.
Helmsman, set a course and engage at warp three.”
Ten minutes later, as the Glogak once again dropped from warp, it
hadn’t taken long for the sensor contacts to materialize more fully on
Dorsey’s computer. “Sir, I’m reading six transport vessels.”
“Federation?”
“Yes, sir. Zeus-class automated transports, to be exact. They’re in a
tight formation, on a heading that will take them straight to Deneva
Colony.”
130
The frustration on Jollond’s face was obvious. He’d been cheated of
his prize yet again. Dorsey almost wished that a Romulan would show
up just to give the captain a change of mood. “They’re in visual range,
sir. Should I put them on the screen?”
Jollond nodded without a word.
On the screen, the six submarine-like vessels appeared. Tapered,
tube-shaped things, with a sail-like control tower and emergency
solar panels jutting from the rear like fins, the Zeus class was a
workhorse of the Federation. Over a thousand were in service, with
more being constructed each month. Their automation gave them
the ability to transport cargo at a fraction of the cost of a manned
ship, and many were used for both military and civilian purposes.
“Can you get a copy of the ships’ manifests?”
“It’ll take a moment, sir,” Dorsey reported as he went to work at his
terminal. As he did, a bright light flashed over his shoulder. Turning
from his computer, he watched in horror as several blasts of energy
rocketed toward one of the freighters, incinerating it in seconds.
“What the—”
“Romulans,” Jollond growled. “Distance to the freighters?”
“Two minutes,” the helm officer responded.
“Wait until the last possible moment, then drop to one-quarter
impulse!”
“Aye, sir!”
In that short time, another freighter was damaged, its cargo hold
ripped open and its contents spilling out into space like a gutted
beast. “Manifest coming in, sir. Mostly mining equipment and hightechnology goods. However, the lead freighter is carrying medical
supplies for Deneva Colony. Looks like enough inside there to build a
small hospital.”
That’s when the helm officer piped in. “Dropping to one-quarter
impulse, sir.”
“Center the enemy vessel on the screen!”
The viewer shifted from the dissected freighter to the Romulan. It
had a disk-shaped central section, with high-swept wings like an
outstretched bird. Uniformly it was a gray-green color, except for the
tips of the wings, which glowed a bright lime. From those points
another salvo of energy hurtled out toward a helpless freighter. The
blasts tore open the control sail and all power on the freighter went
down.
“Lock lasers on the enemy vessel!”
“Shouldn’t we try and hail them?” Dorsey asked. Though he knew
the captain wouldn’t waste this moment, Floyd nonetheless wanted
the request recorded in the bridge’s constantly running digital
recorder.
“Negative! We will see to the safety of Federation property. The
Romulans have made their intentions clear, and have left us no choice
but to retaliate.”
“Lasers locked, sir!”
“Weapons officer, fire beams!”
The Glogak’s beams raced out toward the lone Romulan vessel.
Sensing the incoming attack, it was able to slip around the beams at
the last moment. As it moved away from the freighters, it took aim
and fired at the Glogak, greens beams of high-powered plasma
striking her amidships. On the bridge, the crew was tossed in their
seats, but each of them managed to keep their station.
“Dorsal shields down twenty percent, but holding,” Dorsey called.
“The Teth is returning fire.” On the small screen afforded him, Dorsey
watched as the Teth’s beams hit their target. “Impact. The Romulan’s
shields are damaged. They are swinging around again, possibly for
another attack run.”
But Captain Jollond wasn’t about to give the Romulans another
target to fire at. “Move to intercept!”
“Too late, sir. They’re firing on another of the freighters.”
On the main screen, Dorsey and the rest watched as the Romulan
sped into view of the remaining four freighters. At such a high rate of
speed, the Romulan’s weapons weren’t successful in taking down the
freighter’s shields fully, but the damage had been done.
“The medical freighter’s been damaged, sir. It’s slowing.”
“Return fire,” Jollond screamed. “Draw the Romulan away from
those ships.”
Both the Glogak and the Teth fired their powerful laser cannons, but
the Romulan was once again too agile and avoided each shot. It
pivoted gracefully and returned fire on the Starfleet vessels. The
132
Glogak was hit once more and, as fate would have it, the powerful,
chemically fueled warhead struck the shields just forward of the
bridge. Even with the shields up, the force of the explosion knocked
everyone to the deck. A handful of monitors on the Glogak’s bridge
exploded, and a fire broke out near the turbo elevator doors.
Reacting without thought, Floyd Dorsey vaulted over the bridge’s
upper railing to Captain Jollond, who’d been tossed facedown onto
the deck beside the command chair. Turning the captain over, a brief
examination of the blackened face and lifeless eyes was all that was
required to tell Floyd that Captain Jollond was dead. But this was no
time to grieve. The Romulan was still out there, still potent in its
ability to deal death out to the rest of the Starfleet officers on the
Glogak and the Teth. “Lieutenant Ta’rek, do we still have weapons
control?”
“Yes, sir,” the Andorian weapons officer called back.
“Communications, hail the Teth. Tell them that Captain Jollond is
dead and that I’ve assumed command. Then tell them to form up on
our starboard side for a coordinated attack.”
“They’re coming alongside now,” the ensign said from the
communications station a moment later.
Dashing back up to the science station, Dorsey checked the shortrange readings. “Ta’rek, the Romulan is bearing 220-mark-1. I want
you to fire all the weapons that are online! Communications, order
the Teth to fire as well.”
Firing split seconds apart, both Starfleet vessels opened fire on the
incoming enemy vessel. Their combined laser strikes missed, but the
Glogak’s accelerator cannons found their target, as did the Teth’s. The
Romulan vessel was momentarily obscured by the force of the
detonation, but it emerged a moment later on an altered course.
“Romulan’s shields are down, and there’s minor hull damage to
their forward structure,” Floyd was proud to report. “They’re
continuing on their new course and going around the stern of the
freighters on the starboard side. Helm, stay on them.”
“Aye, sir!”
“The Teth is coming around the port side of the freighters. Looks
like we’re going to catch the Romulan between us. Fire as soon as you
get a weapons lock, Mr. Ta’rek.”
The Romulan, though damaged, was still faster than the Glogak. It
completed its turn around the freighters and—now nose to nose with
the Teth—opened fire once again just as the Teth did the same. Each
vessel struck its target. The Teth took damage to its port nacelle,
while the unprotected Romulan was struck in the starboard wing, a
large chunk of which was blown free and out into space.
“A hit, sir,” Ta’rek shouted as the Glogak completed her turn and
witnessed the Teth’s scoring blow.
“Fire main laser batteries!” Dorsey shouted.
The Glogak’s weapons sprang to life, and the unprotected stern of
the Romulan ship lit up brilliantly under the white-hot onslaught of
the forward cannons. The enemy ship then veered off course once
again, heading away from both the Starfleet warships and the prized
freighters and leaving a trail of sparks in her wake.
“She may be trying to escape,” Ta’rek said, turning to face
Commander Dorsey.
“Pursuit course, Lieutenant. I don’t want to give them that chance.
Communications, try to hail them. Order them to stand down or we
will continue to fire.”
“Aye, sir.”
“The Teth, sir,” Ta’rek said, nodding to the main viewer. On the
screen, the Federation starship was just coming into view. With its
systems mostly undamaged, it was able to make better speed than
the Glogak.
“Communications, have the Teth fire a warning shot across the
enemy’s bow. Maybe that’ll slow them down.”
After the ensign had relayed the order, Dorsey and the rest watched
as the starship did as she was told. A single warhead sped out of the
ship and passed within a few hundred meters of the enemy ship. The
result was that the Romulan increased speed. There was little choice
left to Dorsey.
“Mr. Ta’rek, target the Romulan’s impulse drive section. If they
don’t want to slow down voluntarily, we’ll make them.”
“Targeted, sir. Accelerator cannons ready.”
134
“Fire.”
Two rounds shot out from the Glogak. Speeding past the Teth, each
impacted on the stern of the Romulan vessel. First there was a small
explosion, indicative of a successful cannon strike. It was then quickly
followed by a much larger one that enveloped the entire Romulan
vessel. When the fireball faded, the warship was gone.
“Target destroyed, captain,” Ta’rek said with puzzlement.
“Don’t be too concerned about it, Lieutenant,” Dorsey replied,
suddenly fatigued. Looking at the command chair for a long moment,
he decided to sit in the science officer’s station. “We’ve been getting
reports that the Romulans initiate their self-destruct systems when
Federation vessels get too close to capturing them.”
Ta’rek scowled, then shook his head in disgust. “That they should
kill so freely only to destroy themselves afterward. It smacks of
cowardice and desperation.”
Floyd ran a hand through his hair, then looked around the damaged
consoles of the bridge. And to Captain Jollond’s body, still lying where
it had fallen. “You’ll get no argument from me.” Turning toward the
sound of opened doors, Dorsey watched as a team of medical
personnel poured onto the bridge, the ship’s doctor in the lead.
“Sorry we took so long,” the aging Tellarite physician began. “With
the elevators down, we’ve been stuck on deck three.”
Dorsey nodded down to the deck. “Captain Jollond is dead.”
The doctor rushed to the captain’s side, waving his instruments over
the body, then nodded solemnly. “We’ve got more wounded on
board than sickbay can handle.”
“One of the freighters out there is ferrying medical supplies to
Deneva. They’re automated, but they have several compartments set
aside for use by crews. Maybe we can use some of the space to create
a makeshift medical ward?”
Reaching a gentle hand out to the former captain’s forehead, the
doctor bobbed his head slowly.
“I’m sorry, Doc. I know he was a friend.”
Slowly rising to his feet, the Tellarite doctor turned to Dorsey. “I’ll
assemble a small team to beam over to the freighter. If we’re going
to do something, Captain, we should do it now. Most of the injured
may not have long to live.”
Floyd nodded. “I’ll have some people from engineering beam over
to assist you.”
Nodding once more, the doctor motioned for two of his team to
remove Captain Jollond’s body from the bridge.
Turning to the communications officer, Dorsey smiled weakly.
“Send a message to the Teth. Inform them of our plans to send some
of our wounded over to the freighter. They may be able to help in the
process.”
“Yes, sir,” the young Andorian female said.
“Engineering,” Dorsey said into the intercom. “Status report?”
“Warp engines are offline,” the chief engineer reported. “Two
fusion reactors are down, but I think I can get one of them operational
if I’ve got the time.”
“You’ve got the time, Chief,” Dorsey said as he looked around the
damaged bridge. “What about shields?”
“I just received a report from the damage control party I sent to the
bow. The generator is burnt to a crisp, and there’s nothing I can do to
fix it. If you’re intent on engaging any Romulans, I suggest you do it
stern-first for the time being.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Lasers are online, but you’ve got minimal power until I can get that
other fusion reactor online. Of course, impulse will be sluggish until
then as well.”
“Then I won’t keep you, Chief. Give me an update on anything as
soon as you’ve got one.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Communications officer, send a coded message to Starfleet
Command. Advise them of our status, then have them direct some
support ships to assist us. We’re going to need some help to get
home.”
136
Chapter 13
Stardate 15601.11
January 2156
Delegation Hall, United Federation of Planets Headquarters, Paris,
Earth
Standing behind the raised podium in the center of the immense
circular auditorium, Federation president Rissa Lyn looked out over
the darkened room at the hundreds of delegates assembled from the
still-fledging boundaries of the United Federation of Planets. Spaced
evenly throughout the hall, the resplendent flags of the founding
members—as well as a half-dozen signatory ones—were draped from
the ceiling, fluttering slightly in the recirculated air. As she stood,
flanked by the leaders of those same founding worlds, the gentle
beating of those flags was the only noise to be heard as she took in a
deep breath before speaking.
“My fellow delegates, six days ago, the Starfleet orbital station at
Tarod IX was suddenly and savagely attacked by the alien race known
as the Romulans.
“Using horrifyingly destructive weapons of unknown type, the
Romulans launched a surprise attack on station Salem One and
several nearby Starfleet vessels. More than 3,000 men and women
were killed in this cowardly attack. The distance to Salem One from
the suspected Romulan military base in the Cheron system proves
beyond any doubt that this attack was planned and launched several
weeks ago.
“The United Federation of Planets has not initiated any hostile
action against the Romulans. Time and again, we have attempted to
open a dialogue with their government, but all our attempts have
been forcefully rejected. Indeed, two of our diplomatic endeavors
have resulted in the innocent deaths of those brave beings who
sought only peaceful coexistence with the Romulans. Previous
violent encounters between our nations might have resulted from
cultural misunderstandings, but the vicious attack upon Salem One,
not to mention the brutal slaughtering of defenseless civilians on the
passenger liner SS Diana, both having taken place well after
diplomatic endeavors on our part unashamedly showed our
willingness to a peaceful solution, proves without a doubt the
Romulans’ intent to wage war against the peaceful people of the
Federation.
“And we have not sought war, but when we find ourselves under
attack by an unreasoning foe, we have a sacred duty to defend our
respective races with every means at our disposal. The Romulans will
soon discover the indomitable will of not only the human race, but the
combined resources of every member of the United Federation of
Planets. We refuse to retreat in the face of such naked aggression. We
will resist these attacks with all our strength. Together, we can and
will stop the slaughter of our people from an enemy that knows no
compunction. We must do this, for if we do not, the cost will indeed
be high.
“Under the authority I’ve been granted as president, I have ordered
that all measures be taken to provide for our defense. Our Outer
System Defense Outposts have been placed on the highest alert
possible, and all starships within five parsecs of space believed to be
held by the Romulans have been ordered to defend Federation
interests in those areas by any means possible. Starfleet shipyards,
both within the inner core of the Federation as well as those near the
outlying borders, have been ordered to increase production of vessels
suitable to the continued deterrence of all invading alien belligerents.
“I am certain that I echo the sentiments of the Federation Assembly
and of the people of the Federation when I say we will defend
ourselves from this menace and will insure that such aggression will
never endanger our worlds again, be it the current Romulan threat, or
any other faction that believes they are free to exact judgment on
those who have done them no ill.
“I hereby ask the Federation Assembly and the Federation Council
to formally declare that—as of this stardate—a state of war should
now exist between the United Federation of Planets and the Romulan
Empire.
138
“This is not a decision that has been made lightly. This is not a
decision that should be glorified nor be vilified. But this is something
that must come to pass. To ensure the very sustainability of our new
peaceful way of life, we have been forced into conflict. And it is a
conflict we must win, or else face the consequence of not only
invasion, but of utter and total decimation.
“My fellow delegates, as members of the United Federation of
Planets, I ask that you stand with me, and that we do as we promised
on Babel not so very long ago—that we will stand together, in
moments of triumph and in those of adversity, for only by doing so
will we continue to stand. Thank you.”
As she stepped back from the podium, there was a palpable
moment of utter silence in the hall. Again, only the fluttering of the
high-flung flags could be heard. But it was only a moment, instantly
shattered by the resounding applause from the entire assembly.
Many stood to their feet, quickly joined by the others. After a full ten
minutes, the entire assembly returned to their seats—save for
Ambassador Abraham Dannon, the head delegate for the Federation
Council. Although only slightly over five feet tall, the soft-spoken
middle-aged man with a graying mustache stood with his blue eyes
sparkling in the overhead lights. And the weight of that kind but
imposing stare was not lost on President Lyn.
“The Federation Assembly recognizes Ambassador Abraham
Dannon of the Federation Council,” Rissa said with a nod.
“Ambassador, you have something to say?”
“Madam President, I have little to add to what has already been
established as fact. The Federation Council has been weighted with
the ongoing situation with the Romulans for some time. As Starfleet
is directly under our jurisdiction, I believe it is safe to say that we in
the council have felt more profoundly—and with deeper regret—the
loss of those brave souls who have given everything imaginable and
more to ensure the longevity of the United Federation of Planets
against our enemies.
“I stand here now, not only as the head of the Federation Council,
but as a father—one who has lost such a soul, as many of my
contemporaries have. We have reached a decision on this situation,
and no further discussion on the matter is necessary.” Withdrawing a
computer tablet from his robe, Dannon held it aloft for all to see.
Having committed the words to his heart, there was no need to read
directly from it.
“Whereas the forces of the Romulan Empire have launched
numerous unprovoked attacks against the outposts and starships of
Starfleet, as well as countless civilians in the affected areas of space,
and bearing in mind Starfleet’s primary responsibility under the
United Federation of Planets’ charter for the maintenance of
interplanetary peace and security, and having considered all possible
diplomatic alternatives, the Federation Council declares accordingly
that the that a state of war does indeed exist between the United
Federation of Planets and the Romulan Empire.
“The Federation Council, the Federation Security Council, and the
Federation secretary-general agree unilaterally with the Federation
Assembly to employ the entire naval and military force of the United
Federation of Planets and any and all resources of the government to
wage unrestricted war against the Romulan Empire, with the goal of
bringing this dire conflict to a successful conclusion.”
Another uproar of applause was held throughout the auditorium.
After a further five minutes, all the delegates except for Dannon went
back to their seats. “What say you, Madam President?” his kind but
resolute voice asked, echoing off the rounded chamber walls.
Nodding with the heavy weight upon her lithe shoulders, she
placed her hand atop a computer screen, which lit up under the
pressure. “So noted, Ambassador Dannon,” she said, then turned her
head to look at the entire assembly. “My fellow delegates . . . my
friends . . . we are at war. May it end swiftly.”
When the council session had ended, Admiral Rom Walton could
sense a distinct change in the otherwise welcoming breeze through
the streets of Paris. The Federation was at war, and the weight it
impressed on even the simplest of street vendors was enough to
cause Walton to inhale deeply, as if that very weight was threating to
suffocate him. Sitting in the executive shuttle beside him, President
Rissa Lyn did the same. He looked at her, pensively staring out a view
140
port at the streets below as they made their way to Starfleet
Command in San Francisco.
“All those people,” she said quietly, not bothering to face Walton.
“Millions. Billions that I’ve never seen . . . never met. That we should
ask so much from so many. That I should.”
“This isn’t your fault, Madam President.”
“No,” she said despondently. “I know that. We didn’t make this
meal, but we’re being forced to eat it.” She turned, sorrow-filled, to
the commander of Starfleet. “And we’re going to be made to pay the
bill, Rom. And how much or how little will that be?”
Under the weight of her imploring eyes, Walton turned his gaze to
the deck of the shuttlecraft. “I wish I could say for certain.”
Forcing a smile, she reached out a gentle hand to his shoulder.
“Sorry, Admiral. It’s unfair of me to ask you to—”
Walton straightened, then tugged at the hem of his medalencrusted jacket. “It’s fine, Madam President. You have every right to
ask.”
“I was thinking . . . of your daughter.”
Rom smiled weakly. “As was I, Rissa,” he said, using the president’s
first name for the first time he could remember. The thought made
him chuckle slightly. Does war bring about such informality? “But
we’ve got a lot more daughters to worry about out there right now,”
he said as he nodded his head toward the shuttle windows. “And sons,
fathers, mothers . . . a lot of people are counting on what we start here
today.”
She smiled back, nodding. “Anything you can tell me before the
formal briefing with the chiefs of staff?”
“Not much,” Walton said with a frown. “Outer System Defense
Outpost 5 has been rechristened Starbase 3 for the duration of the
conflict. It’ll be the main staging area for all fleet movements in and
around the disputed region of space. The base commander,
Commodore Robert Riddle, has been promoted to full admiral. He’ll
be in the briefing via subspace, and is likely the only one you may have
never met in person. Anything you want to know about what’s
currently happening out in the borders, he’ll be the one with the hard
info. Of course, Starfleet Intelligence will be there as well for backup
and evaluations, and Admiral Grooms will be present as the
designated commander of the First Combined Fleet.”
“And your thoughts on Starfleet’s readiness to counter the
Romulans? I want your personal opinion, Rom. Not the one you
spoon-feed the new Academy cadets each fall.”
He tried to smile, but it came off as a smirk. “We’ve got amazing
people doing remarkable things in exceedingly difficult situations,
ma’am. On the record, they’re a testament to the uniform and to the
Federation. Off the record, Starfleet is fighting an uphill battle with
itself. Starfleet Academy was founded to root out these difficulties,
but we can’t send everyone through at the same time. The younger
officers are acclimating well, as are the junior enlisted people.”
“But?” she asked, sensing the coming statement.
“Some of the older officers and non-commissioned officers are still
having a tough time with it. They’ve got decades of individual training
to break down—in some cases break completely away from—and
reform into the new policies. We’ve had . . . incidents,” Walton
finished with an uneasy smile.
“Pray tell?” the president asked as the shuttle, now on final
approach, dipped below the Golden Gate Bridge.
Rom searched his memory, trying to find the least offensive of the
infractions to relay to the president. There weren’t many that fit into
that category. “Several recent graduates from the Academy—
humans—were stationed on board an Andorian frigate, the USS
Mol’Asknner. Once the ensigns made the mistake of calling the ship
the Mule Skinner.”
Rissa chuckled. “That’s not so bad.”
“No . . .” Walton wavered. “Unfortunately, on the planet Andor, to
call something a mule is to . . . well . . . is to put into question the
promiscuity of a man’s wife.”
She put a hand to her forehead in embarrassment. “Oh, dear.”
“And that’s not the worst part. The offended Andorian chief petty
officer promptly threw the ensign into an air lock, and was a few
seconds away from opening the outer hatch before he stopped
himself. Apparently, it’s an unspoken tradition when their honor is in
question: they scare the pants off the offending party as a way to
ensure it doesn’t happen again.”
142
Rissa, wide-eyed, nodded. “And I’m supposing it worked?”
Rom nodded. “At last report, the unfortunate ensign was spending
all his free time brushing up on Andorian cultural taboos. With any
luck, maybe he’ll be the next ambassador to Andor.”
Laughing, Rissa smiled widely. As she wondered if this would be
the last time she would do so for the foreseeable future, it slowly
faded.
***
Stardate 15601.19
Praetor’s Throne Room, Romulan Imperial Senate, Romulus
“Admiral Jeldan, it’s good to see you again.”
“Praetor D'Varu,” the admiral said with a cursory bow to the elder
Romulan. “The honor is mine.”
The throne room looked far different that the last time Jeldan had
been a guest. Gone were all the former praetor’s decorations of
office. Gone was the purple paint and thick drapes. Jeldan now stood
in a room festooned with shimmering gold accents, and drapes so
sheer they were almost transparent. The sunlight streamed into the
place, filled it, and through those drapes Jeldan could see the twin
planet of Remus looking down on them with pleasure.
And then there was the praetor, outfitted with robes of the same
golden material. Jeldan wondered what weapons such a man could
conceal in those robes. A disruptor? Or perhaps a ceremonial dagger?
He wondered if the praetor’s own voice was his weapon of choice—
those hypnotic, terrifyingly smooth vocals that could lull a man to
sleep if he were not careful. Or wise.
“I am understandably anxious to hear your report, Admiral,” the
wraith-like praetor began in his signature tone.
Bowing slightly, Jeldan kept his eyes fixed on his leader—although
the praetor was less inclined to do the same to the flag admiral of the
Imperial Fleet. “I only wish I had more to offer, Excellency.”
“Come now, Admiral, speak,” D’Varu said, suddenly animated. His
grin was wide and somewhat terrifying. “What have you to report?”
“It’s been two years into this campaign, Excellency, and we know
little more about our adversary than when we began. In fact, we grow
more puzzled with each encounter.”
“How so?”
“I can tell you with certainty that we have not, to this point,
encountered a single Klingon vessel. There have been no bodies to
account for this, nor have we see a single iota of their technology in
the debris we have recovered to this point.”
D’Varu nodded slowly, turning to the sheer drapes overlooking the
meticulously manicured grounds of the imperial palace. “And what
have you seen, Admiral Jeldan?” he asked, pulling apart the drapes to
admire something in the distance.
“Again, we are not certain. At first, the bodies we recovered were
those of beings like ourselves . . . yet not like ourselves. Outwardly,
they bear many similarities to us. However, their internal
configurations are vastly different.”
“Aliens. Yes,” D’Varu said with almost boredom. “Humans. I’ve
heard of such things from the Tal Shiar.” He then turned to face the
admiral. “I see their insight is correct. Very good.”
“Yes, Excellency. But, what puzzles us is that, as of late, we have
recovered more bodies, not like the first, and even more vastly
different from our own. Skin tone changes, facial and body
arrangements all dissimilar.”
“Any one more than the other?”
“Yes, Praetor. The humans. They outnumber the rest by two to
one—in some cases, much more.”
“Perhaps these humans conquered the others and have enlisted
these other species as servitors. We are no different in those respects.
And the Klingons as well. Intergalactic subjugation would appear to
be the lot of the races of the universe.” He turned to the admiral.
Seeing no outward sign of emotion, D’Varu picked the subject that
Jeldan was unquestionably waiting for. “And what of the bodies that
do look as we do?”
“Excellency?”
144
D’Varu smiled dangerously. “Come now, Admiral,” he chided. “Do
not think me ill informed. I’m aware that certain remains have been
recovered that bear a striking resemblance to us here on Romulus.”
The Tal Shiar. There was no other way the praetor could have
known. “We have not yet confirmed all reports as of yet, Excellency.
But it does appear that a race similar to our own fights alongside
these humans.”
“You mean was subjugated by them,” D’Varu said in a moment of
rage. “No Romulan . . . or Romulan-like being would willingly serve
another race.”
“Of course,” Jeldan said with an obligatory bow.
“Are they much like us?”
“From the bodies we’ve discovered, our scientists believe that there
may indeed be a common ancestor. Again, these findings are very
preliminary based on the small number of bodies and the state of
their decomposition.”
“Brothers,” D’Varu whispered to himself. “Perhaps not at all unlike
us, I think. That they should fight and die so freely for their cause. It
gives me hope that we may infiltrate this distant cousin race and bring
them to our side. Can it be done?”
Jeldan was astonished at the audacity of the plan that was being
proposed. “Our scientists agree that we share many physical
similarities, but to propose that we could place operatives in their
culture to pass as like creatures . . . it defies reason, Excellency. We
know nothing of their beliefs.”
“The Tal Shiar will get you everything you wish to know, Admiral.
Gather your finest agents.”
Impossible. Surely they would meet with failure. “Yes, Praetor.”
“And what of their technology . . . these humans?”
“Comparable to ours in many respects. Analysis of their weapons
shows deficiencies, but their hull materials and propulsion systems
are comparable with our own. However, if our initial estimates are
correct, it’s very likely they have both more officers and starships to
thwart any major advance you might wish to make into their
territory.”
“And, thus far, have we claimed any planets of importance to our
Road to the Stars in the last several months?”
“None of consequence, Praetor. At least, none that would satisfy
the needs of our people.”
D’Varu then turned a cold stare toward the imperial admiral. “Then
let us hope for your sake, Admiral Jeldan, that your estimates of their
defensive capabilities are . . . exaggerated.”
146
Chapter 14
Stardate 15602.25
On the main view screen of the cruiser USS Bismarck, Captain
Lambert Chow watched as the Federation destroyer Montgomery
moved slowly toward the docking arm of Defense Station Bravo.
Recently positioned near the spinward edge of Federation space in
the tenuous Vega Zatauri system, DS-B was tasked with monitoring
Romulan fleet movements throughout the sector and engaging them
if necessary. The Bismarck, along with the Montgomery and the
destroyer Trinity, were to be the instruments of that policy.
The Trinity was off on patrol near what was left of the fourth planet
of the system. It, along with the second planet, had long ago broken
apart under the gravitational stress of the enormous star at the center
of the system. Geologically unimportant, the system was of extreme
tactical value due to its proximity to the Deneva colony. Littered with
asteroidal debris from the two former planets, Vega Zatauri was a
navigational nightmare for anyone coming into or leaving the system,
and Captain Chow and the others hoped it would be a deterrent to
any Romulans thinking of invading Federation space along this front.
“Message coming in from the Montgomery, Captain,” Lieutenant
Shepherd called out from the communications console. “She’s
completed docking operations.”
“Thank you, Alexander.” Chow nodded. “Signal DS-B that we’ll be
departing shortly to relieve the Trinity. Then hail the Trinity that we’ll
be rendezvousing with them at 1300 hours.”
“Sir,” Shepherd said with surprise, “we’re receiving a hail from the
Trinity now. Priority One. Audio only.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“DS-B, this is the destroyer Trinity. We’ve got positive contact with
three Romulan warships entering the system. They appear to be on
an intercept course and are moving slowly. Request you advise?”
“Sir, DS-B is requesting we respond.”
“Open a channel, Alex.”
“Open, sir.”
“Trinity, this is Captain Chow on the Bismarck. Can you give us the
precise coordinates of the Romulan forces?”
“They’re near the farthest planet in the system, Zatauri V. They
must have been hiding near one of the three moons . . . we didn’t see
them until well after they entered the system. They’re on a direct
course for DS-B.”
“They’ll have to get through the asteroid belt first, Trinity. That
should slow them down long enough for us get out there to help you.”
“Understood, Bismarck. We’ll plot a course to our side of their
projected insertion point in the field.”
“We’ll be there shortly. Bismarck out.”
“Sir, another communication coming in, this time from DS-B.
Audio and video, sir.”
“On screen.”
On the main screen, the base commander’s office was visible.
Sitting behind his modest desk, Commodore Vincent Bowling stared
back at Chow with unwavering blue eyes.
“Commodore, we just received a call from the Trinity. Three
Romulan vessels have entered the area and are moving toward the
station.”
Bowling nodded grimly. “Yes, Captain. I monitored the
transmission. That’s why I’m calling you.”
“We’re getting underway now, sir.”
“Belay that, Captain,” the commodore said with a raised hand. “I’ll
be dispatching the Montgomery to assist the Trinity. The Bismarck is
to remain near DS-B.”
Chow tried not to show his disbelief. “Sir, if I may, two destroyers
aren’t much of a match for three cruisers. If the Romulans are looking
for a fight—”
“We don’t know what they’re looking for, Captain. They may just
be passing by. I don’t want to aggravate them into attacking us. If the
Bismarck were to become disabled, those three enemy ships will walk
right over and pound the daylights out of this station. Until other units
can arrive to augment our vessels already here, our orders are to
engage only when we are assured a substantial victory.”
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Chow and the others had heard this speech before. The
reinforcements Commodore Bowling was insisting were on their way
wouldn’t arrive at Defense Station Bravo for another week. Until
then, their mission was to monitor and report, and not to engage.
“Yes, sir. However, I’d still like to detach from the station’s
umbilical supports. If indeed the Romulans are looking for a fight, we
need to be ready.”
Bowling nodded his bald head. “A sensible precaution, Captain. But
stay close to DS-B at all times. If the need for you to intercept the
enemy vessels arises, I’ll send the orders myself.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Captain Vincent, we’re nearing the edge of the asteroid belt.”
Stepping away from the engineering console, the Trinity’s captain
slipped back into the command chair. “On screen, please.”
On the main view screen, the jagged shapes of countless asteroids
filled the entire image. They were a uniform dull gray color, ranging
in size from a speck of dust to objects as large as the Starfleet
destroyer herself. Although they appeared stationary, Commander
Vernon Vincent knew full well that each was moving inexorably away
from what used to be the center of the large planet prior to its
breakup nearly a millennia ago. Travel into this region of the belt was
possible on maneuvering thrusters, but any other method of
propulsion would be extremely hazardous. At least we’ll see the
Romulans long before they get within striking distance.
“Mr. Avery, are the Romulans still on course?”
The science officer peered into his scope for a moment before
turning to face the captain. “Affirmative, sir. They’ll be entering the
asteroid field in less than two minutes, assuming they maintain their
current course and speed.”
“And once they do, what’s the estimated time for them to traverse
it and come out on our side?”
“I’d say a conservative estimate would be fifteen minutes, sir. There
are several large asteroids between us and them, some with
considerable gravitational pulls. On maneuvering thrusters, several
course changes will be required.”
“And the asteroids themselves?”
“Nothing extraordinary there, sir,” Avery said with a smirk. “Mostly
nickel and iron. There are traces of precious metals . . . gold, silver,
platinum and such, but nothing worthy of mining operations.”
Vincent nodded. “But nothing that will cloud our sensors.”
“No, sir. We’ll have an unobstructed view of what the Romulans are
doing.”
“Sir, message coming in from DS-B,” the young Andorian woman
at communications said.
“Yes, Ensign Gnar.”
“The destroyer Montgomery is being dispatched to render
assistance. She’ll be at these coordinates shortly.”
“Understood.”
Ten minutes later, just as the Montgomery was coming into visual
range, Lieutenant Commander Avery’s sensors began to chirp an
audible alarm that drew his attention from the library computers.
“Sir,” he began after verifying the readings, “the Romulan force is
dividing.”
“Specify,” Vernon asked impatiently.
“Two warships are changing course and moving up the belt and
away from us. The third has increased speed and is moving into the
asteroid field directly ahead of us.”
“They’re intent on splitting up our forces.” Commander Vincent
nodded in near-silent agreement. “Maintain position on our side of
the field, helm. Communications, relay the sensor information to the
Montgomery. Advise her to change course and follow the other
Romulans up the belt, but to also keep her distance.”
“Aye, sir,” came the chorus of replies.
“The two Romulan cruisers that are skirting the edge of the field
are slowing. I think they’re about to penetrate. The Montgomery is
slowing near their projected point of insertion.”
“And the third warship?”
“It’s halfway into the field, sir. She’s nearly parallel with us.”
“Arm all weapons. Go to red alert. Ensign Gnar, send a message to
Defense Station Bravo. Tell them we’re standing by to repel the
invaders.”
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“Sending now, sir,” she replied nervously.
“All weapons standing by, sir,” the navigator said confidently.
“The Romulan has increased speed,” Avery announced.
“That’s madness, even for a Romulan,” Vernon retorted. “It’ll
smash into one of those asteroids in no time.”
“Sensors showing the Romulans are using some sort of drill-beam
to pulverize the material in their path. They’re pressing forward at
nearly one-quarter impulse. Time to intercept is two minutes.”
Impossible. Even the Federation doesn’t have that kind of technology!
With any kind of protection the asteroids were going to afford the
Federation crews quickly being nullified, Vernon moved his tactics
into high gear. “Helm, bring us up 300 meters. I want a clear shot at
that Romulan before he breaks through!”
As soon as the Trinity moved into position, she was shaken as a
fusion rocket soared past her and exploded off to port.
“Helm, return fire!” Vernon shouted as he gripped the armrests of
the swinging chair.
The Trinity’s accelerator cannons quickly fired, two warheads
streaking toward the Romulan. One struck a nearby asteroid,
vaporizing it and sending pebble-sized chunks whizzing off in every
direction. The second impacted the Romulan, but the enemy vessel’s
shields held fast.
“Minimal damage to the Romulan’s shields,” Avery announced.
“They’re swinging toward the other Romulans. However, one of the
other Romulan vessels is entering the field opposite the Montgomery.
The final enemy vessel appears to have stopped on their side of the
asteroid belt. The Montgomery is firing at the closest incoming
Romulan.”
Vernon held his breath as Avery watched the result of the other
engagement.
“The Montgomery’s lasers have struck the Romulan. Their shields
are damaged, but holding. Our target has emerged from the
asteroids and is opening fire on the Montgomery.”
“Helm, get us there!”
“One hit, one miss,” Avery called out. “The Montgomery’s shields
are holding.”
“Not for long if we don’t get there fast.”
“The Montgomery is returning fire,” Avery said, then paused as he
watched his readout. “Two shots, split between two targets. One
miss, but the shields on one of the Romulans are now completely
down.”
Well done, Montgomery. “Take aim and fire at the nearest enemy
vessel!”
“That’s our previous target,” Avery said as the Romulan vessel
swung into view on the main screen.
“Firing!”
Laser bolts shot out from the Trinity in three short salvoes. Each hit
the Romulan squarely in their stern.
“Target’s shields are down,” said Avery as he turned to the captain.
“However, the only undamaged Romulan vessel has broken through
the asteroid field and is making a run toward DS-B!”
“And our target?”
Avery looked into his sensor hood, replaying the information as it
happened. “Heading back into the asteroid field for cover. The
targeting computers have lost their lock. However, the Montgomery’s
target is swinging into open space, undoubtedly to get a better angle
of attack on the destroyer. We can put them in range of our cannons,
but only if we move quickly.”
“We’ve got our hands full out here,” Vernon said, then pivoted
toward Gnar. “Send to DS-B: We’re engaged with Romulan forces in
this area and cannot break away. Advise them that we’re requesting
that the Bismarck be detached to deal with an incoming Romulan
attack vessel!”
“Sending now,” the Andorian said.
“Helm, come about to engage the Montgomery’s target. Mr. Avery,
keep an eye on our own friend out there in the field. I don’t want to
give them a clean shot at our backside when we’re not looking.”
On the Bismarck’s main view screen, the image of the mushroomshaped Romulan warship became larger with each passing second.
“Distance to target?” Captain Chow asked impatiently.
“Firing range in sixty seconds, sir!” Commander Steve Pittman
announced from the science station.
152
“There’s no time to wait. Mr. Brockman, fire the accelerator
cannons!”
“But at this range, we’ll be lucky to—”
But Chow wasn’t about to hold off for another moment. With any
luck, even a near miss might dissuade the Romulan from attacking
the space station. “Fire!”
“Aye, sir,” Brockman quickly acknowledged. Overriding the ship’s
targeting system, Brockman manually fired at the target. The
Hercules-class cruiser shuddered slightly as the magnetically
projected round burst from the underside of the primary hull. Just as
the Bismarck entered the Romulan’s weapons range, the lone missile
struck the forward, bulbous half of the ship dead center. The target’s
shields flashed an angry green, then faded a moment later.
“Target hit. Their shields are down,” Pittman said. “However, their
course is unaltered. They are increasing speed.”
“They’re on a suicide run,” Chow said in horror.
“They’re heading directly toward us,” Pittman said, his eyes never
leaving the sensor display.
“Slow to one-half impulse. Prepare to—”
“Enemy vessel firing!”
A stream of energy poured out of the Romulan vessel, impacting
the Bismarck’s forward shields. The blast was enough to jolt everyone
on the bridge sideways.
“Sir,” Pittman exclaimed. “One of the other Romulan warships is
moving toward our position! The Trinity is in pursuit, but they won’t
make it before we enter the second warship’s weapon range.”
Leaping out of the command chair, Chow leaned forward over the
navigator’s shoulder. “Hard to starboard!”
“Incoming barrage!” Pittman yelled. A second later, the Bismarck
was again pelted with laser fire, this time from the second Romulan
warship. Each of the blasts was a direct hit, and the Bismarck’s shields
couldn’t stand the strain. As soon as they had fallen, the other
Romulan vessel opened fire, striking the cruiser’s port warp nacelle
and sending the starship veering off in an uncontrolled spin.
On the bridge, both the damage control station and the life-support
monitor exploded violently as power surged through damaged
circuits. Hit by a flying piece of circuitry, Captain Chow flailed wildly
as he was thrown back against the command chair.
“Captain!” Steven called as he vaulted over the guard rail to the
lower portion of the bridge. Turning the captain over, Steven was
pleased to hear him curse in agony. A stain of blood marked Chow’s
right sleeve where the damaged component had struck him, but he
seemed otherwise unharmed. The bridge lights began to flicker as the
commander helped the captain to his feet.
“I’ll be fine, Steven,” Chow grunted, gripping his right forearm to
stop the flow of blood. “Return to your post. Let me know where
those Romulans are.”
Leaping back to his station, Commander Pittman quickly
reacquired the sensor lock on the two vessels. “Both of the vessels
have passed us and are halfway to DS-B. The Trinity is coming
alongside us now.”
“Lieutenant Brockman, take us back toward the station. We need
to stop those warships before they do any more damage.”
“Aye, sir,” the helmsman quickly replied.
Swinging around tightly, the damaged cruiser and her destroyer
escort made fast for the unprotected space station. Two minutes
later, they were within weapons range of the Romulan vessels once
again. Seeing their unprotected sterns facing the Starfleet vessels,
Chow had ordered the Trinity to coordinate fire with the Bismarck.
They would take the targets out together.
“The first Romulan warship is locked into the targeting computer,”
Brockman said over his shoulder.
“I want all available weapons fire concentrated on their drive
section, Lieutenant. Let’s stop them before they get any closer to that
station.”
“Message coming in from the Trinity, sir,” the communications
officer said. “She’s ready to open fire.”
“All weapons, fire!” Chow replied to his communications and
weapons officers simultaneously.
Out in space, both Federation starships fired everything at their
disposal. The Trinity, trailing behind the Bismarck, launched a volley
of accelerator cannon rounds and laser fire at extreme range. The
cruiser Bismarck launched a devastating attack with short-range
154
plasma cannons and laser fire. Round after round from the two
Starfleet vessels pummeled the same target, rocking it from side to
side as chunks of its hull were blown free. Seconds later, the vessel
exploded violently. A flaming section of the hull half the size of the
Bismarck shot into their path, causing the Federation warships to
break formation.
“One target destroyed,” Pittman called out. “The second Romulan
is now within weapons range of the defense station.”
“On screen!”
The three-armed station appeared on the view screen, floating
serenely in the blackness of space. But that serenity was broken as
the Romulan warship entered the frame, its green beams of energy
reaching out and striking the closest of the arms.
“The station’s shields are holding,” Pittman called out. “But there is
structural damage to the arm.”
“Lieutenant Brockman, get us there. Full impulse!”
“Sir, drive controls are damaged. It’s going to be a few minutes.”
“The Trinity is passing us to port and continuing on to the station,”
Pittman said.
“What about the Montgomery?” Chow asked, still cradling his arm
as he sat back into the command chair.
“Montgomery reports that her target has been destroyed,” the
communications officer replied. “She’s heading in from the asteroid
belt now, but is still five minutes out.”
“Best speed, Mr. Brockman,” Chow said, ripping off a portion of his
sleeve.
“The Romulan is firing on the station again,” Pittman said from the
science console. “Their shields are now down.”
“The Trinity?” the captain asked as he tied the material around his
upper arm to stem the flow of blood.
“Returning fire . . . lasers and plasma cannons. Cannons have
impacted the Romulan vessel. It is altering course.”
“Heading?”
“Moving away from the station at half-impulse.”
Chow smirked. “Maybe they’ve had enough for one day.”
“The Romulan vessel is now altering course once again, heading
back to the station.”
I guess not, the captain thought regretfully.
“Sir, they’ve increased their speed to full impulse!”
“What?”
“They may be attempting to ram the station,” Pittman countered.
“Brockman!”
“Sorry, sir,” the helmsman pleaded. “We won’t be in range for
another minute.”
“The Trinity is opening fire again.”
On the main screen, Captain Chow and the rest watched as round
after round of the Federation destroyer’s lasers poured into the
unshielded Romulan vessel. Bits and pieces of it flaked off as the
beams penetrated the hull in a dozen places. But still it continued on
course—right toward the station. The Trinity then fired rounds from
her cannons, and as Chow watched the explosions light up the port
side of the now-flaming Romulan vessel, he understood what the
Trinity’s captain was attempting to do—alter the Romulan’s course
herself. In the end, the tactic partially worked.
Instead of ramming headlong into the station’s central core, the
burning mass impacted the previously damaged arm extending from
it. Severing the arm neatly from the station, the Romulan wreckage
continued on a course that would take it within range of the
Bismarck’s weaponry. Not wanting to risk any further destruction,
Chow ordered the ship to intercept the hulk.
“Lieutenant Brockman, dispatch the target.”
“With pleasure, sir,” the lieutenant said dryly.
Four fusion missiles launched from the ship—that last of that
weapon’s inventory—each hitting the flaming debris a few meters
from one another. The remains of the Romulan ship quickly
disintegrated under the onslaught.
“Well done, Lieutenant.”
“Casualty reports coming in now, sir,” the comms officer said with
a pained tone. “Thirty people on the station are listed as dead, with
fifteen more missing.”
“And our own?”
156
“Six in engineering are dead, with a dozen more wounded
throughout the ship.”
“Contact sickbay and coordinate the trauma teams.”
“Aye, sir.”
Stepping down from the science station, Steven placed a hand on
Lambert’s shoulder. “You don’t look so hot yourself, sir.”
Glancing at his wounded arm, the captain nodded. “I’ll manage for
a few more minutes,” he said, suddenly feeling dizzy from the loss of
blood. “Let’s get linked up with the Montgomery and get back to the
station. I’ll see the doc after that. Make sure to get those sensor logs
over to the station as soon as we arrive. I’m sure Fleet Intelligence is
going to want to know what happened here today.”
“Aye, sir.”
Chapter 15
Stardate 15604.21, 1030 hours
In the dark vacuum of space, decades had passed since anything of
note had happened in this area so far removed from the well-traveled
lanes of the United Federation of Planets—or any other spacefaring
culture for that matter. In fact, not since a probe from the nowobscure Vegan Tyranny had passed through here—scanning the
nearby fire-like nebulae for signs of raw materials to fuel their longdead juggernaut war machine—did anything take note of this lonely
corner of the galaxy.
But all that was about to change.
Traveling with all the speed it had mustered in the last millennia, a
solitary cloud of ionized particles swimming toward the nebula was
the singular dignitary to render salute as the lead ship of Task Force
25, the United Earth carrier Enterprise, dropped out of warp well
outside the Kappa Fornacis system. Within seconds, the remaining
vessels representing just over half the First Combined Fleet did the
same, quickly orienting themselves behind Captain Ellis Coombs’s
flagship.
The first thing Ellis noted was the beauty of the nebula so far
distant, yet still managing to fill the entirety of his view screen. “Hell’s
Gate,” Starfleet Command had dubbed this place, and it was easy to
see why. The nebula was generally spherical from their vantage point,
with a darkness in the center where distant stars could be seen, the
whole of the thing glowing like an angry halo of fire set ablaze in the
heavens.
But to Coombs, there was nothing portentous about what he was
seeing. He saw the universe at work, displaying with all her grandeur
and beauty the wonders of the unknown he and many others had
joined the service to encounter. Part of him longed to reach out for it,
touch it, to imprint himself upon the ageless beauty of the thing. The
other half of him knew that do to such a thing could spoil it, that it
was best left alone and should be admired from this distant vantage.
158
With their current mission well underway, he knew he would have to
settle for the latter, though the explorer in him wished for the former.
“All ships have arrived and are accounted for, Captain,” Lieutenant
Hoffman said from the communications station, breaking Ellis from
his admiration of the sight.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Coombs said, regretfully turning his
attention back to the mission. “Send a message to Starbase 3. Advise
Admiral Grooms that the fleet has arrived at Hell’s Gate ahead of
schedule.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Commander Pinkerton, are we ready to begin launching the sensor
probes?”
“Affirmative, sir,” the science officer responded.
“Good. Let’s get the new detection grid deployed. If the information
provided by Task Force 12 is still accurate, we’ve got a Romulan fleet
on its way to this sector. I want to find them before they find us.”
Hoffman nodded. “Agreed.”
“Communications, send to all ships: deploy all sensor probes along
prearranged vectors. I want the grid online by 1300 hours today. No
excuses.”
“Aye, sir. Transmitting now.”
Ellis then turned to the newest member of the Enterprise’s crew and
one of the few newly established Starfleet Marines on board, Major
Christopher Broden, sitting at his station to Coombs’s right. “Flight
control officer, are the fighters prepped and ready?”
“Aye, sir,” the Marine responded smartly. “Squadron Three is
standing by.”
“Begin launch operations immediately. Order them to begin their
patrol runs of this sector. Until the grid is up, those fighters are going
to be our eyes. When you’re done, pipe the exterior visual feed of the
launch bay to the main viewer.”
“Yes, Captain,” the major said with a sharp nod, then turned to his
monitor-laden control station to begin the flight operations.
“Lieutenant Hoffman, at your convenience, open a channel to the
carrier Lexington and advise her to being her own operations.”
“Aye.”
Coombs’s attention was then drawn to the main view screen as
Major Broden switched the view to the underside of the Enterprise.
The two large hangar doors, extending halfway down the forward
section of the tube-shaped hull, split evenly and opened. Visible was
one of the five Minotaur fighters held securely in its cradle. Coombs
watched as the docking clamps were released with a snap, and the
fighter quickly glided free of the mother ship on maneuvering
thrusters. Having the same basic tube shape of the Enterprise and her
sister ships, the fighters were equipped with four fins aft that allowed
them minimal atmospheric flight. On the nose of the craft, four fixed
laser cannons moved out of their alcoves, the operation of which was
the sole responsibility of one of the three-man crew. On the
underside of the forward structure, a large shark’s mouth had been
painted by one of the squadron maintenance staff, a personal touch
to instill camaraderie amongst the flight crew. As fighter one-zeroone moved out of view, another fighter was pivoted into position.
When all five had launched, Coombs ordered the view screen back on
the nebula, the admiration of which demanded his attention until the
fighters reported their initial findings.
“The sensor net is ready to come online, Captain.”
“Very well, Mr. Pinkerton,” Captain Coombs said with pleasure.
“Communications, inform all ships in the task force that we’re
initializing the grid.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Hoffman acknowledged.
“Lieutenant Vincent,” Coombs said, turning to the tactical officer.
“Overlay the sensor net output with this sector on the main view
screen, please.”
On the main view screen, a crisscrosses of sensor beams spread out
over a distance of thirty astronomical units like a spider’s web.
Studying the image, Coombs was pleased to see that the entire
sector—and a slight bit more—was englobed in the net. It took only a
minute for the grid to thoroughly scan and catalog everything, from
the smallest particle of space dust to the largest planetary body. Even
data on the distant Hell’s Gate nebula was being returned, although
160
at Task Force 25’s current distance, it was only inconsequential
information.
“Major Broden, recall the fighter squadron. They’ll be more useful
as close-in support if the Romulans decide to show up.”
“Aye, sir,” Christopher replied from the flight operations console.
“Recalling them now. They’re on the far side of Deneva, so it’ll be
about twenty minutes or so.”
“Understood.”
“Captain,” Vincent called out from the tactical station, “we’ve got
an unknown contact, bearing 028-mark-14.”
Turning to the tactical image still being displayed on the view
screen, Ellis was greeted by several green blobs in the top right
corner. Could it be the Romulan fleet? “Speed?”
“Now reading multiple contacts. They’re moving at warp two, sir,
and not on an intercept course as of yet.”
“What’s the nearest squadron to that location?”
“The Lexington’s, sir.”
“Communications, send to the Lexington: have her and her escorts
detach and intercept the intruders. I want to know exactly what we’re
dealing with.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain Whiteacre, we’ve verified the contacts are indeed
Romulan,” the Lexington’s tactical officer, Commander Tim Knight,
said from the captain’s right.
Matthew Whiteacre, stone-faced, quickly turned to his science
officer. “Commander Griffing, do we have an exact count of the
enemy fleet?”
“Figures coming in now, sir. I’ll pipe them over to the tactical
station.”
“Mr. Knight, correlate the data with the battle computer and put
the information on the main viewer.”
On the main view screen, the orthographic images of five different
classes of Romulan vessels appeared. Beside each was the total
number present for that class, as well as any sensor data on their
weapon and shield status. It didn’t take long to tally the numbers; the
Romulans outnumbered the Federation forces three to one. There
were twenty-seven Cabbage cruisers alone, and a smattering of other
lesser vessels.
“Message coming in from the Enterprise,” Lieutenant Keith said
from the communications console behind the captain. “Captain
Coombs has reviewed the sensor data and is requesting we intercept
the targets in an attempt to break up their fleet.”
Over thirty Romulan vessels against a fraction as many Federation
ones. This should be interesting. “Acknowledge the Enterprise’s
request. Helm, lay in an intercept course and engage at warp factor
three. Flight control officer, stand by to deploy the fighter wing.
Something tells me we’re going to need their help.”
“Captain Coombs, the Lexington group is nearing the enemy fleet.”
“On screen.” With the enhanced sensor net now at full strength,
Ellis was rewarded with an unobstructed view of the battle as it was
about to unfold. The carrier Lexington—hanging back slightly—was
flanked by the Andorian destroyers Voljaz and Plomong. On either
side of those were the predominantly Tellarite-crewed frigates
Adversary and Lagan. As the five ships made their way toward the
Romulan fleet, Coombs watched as the Lexington’s hangar bay doors
opened and expelled her contingent of fighters. Faster and more
maneuverable than the larger ships, the fighters of the 5 th Tactical
Wing sped off toward the enemy fleet, leaving a trail of ionized
particles in their wake.
Ellis leaned forward in the command chair in anticipation as the
conflict unfolded. So it begins.
The three-man fighters were the first to reach the Romulans. The
bulbous Cabbage cruisers in the lead, by far the largest in the Romulan
fleet, were the first targets of opportunity. Swarming in close
formation, the Starfleet fighters fired a simultaneous spread of heavy
missiles at two of them. Too agile to be hit by the returned fire, the
fighters swooped over the targets just as their warheads impacted.
162
Coombs watched in surprise as the missiles exploded directly against
the hulls, creating deep impact craters and sending the larger
warships spiraling out of formation.
“Their shields were down?” the captain asked the science officer.
Pinkerton nodded as he looked into the sensor scope. “And many of
them have yet to raise them. Only the smaller warships seem to be
protected.”
Turning back to the main screen, Coombs watched as the frigates
Adversary and Lagan likewise took aim at two other enemy cruisers.
Firing with accelerator cannons, the equal-sized Romulan vessels
crumbled under the onslaught. Not long after, the Lexington’s fighter
swooped down from above, their quad-laser cannons repeatedly
pelting a U-type cruiser and making short work of it. As the damaged
Romulan ships spun out of formation, the other enemy vessels swung
out of their tight-knit formation. Taking advantage of the chaos, the
destroyers Voljaz and Plomong—along with the Lexington herself—
opened fire with their short-range laser turrets. Two other Cabbage
cruisers were destroyed, and one Romulan destroyer was so badly
crippled that it broke apart as it tried in vain to make an evasive turn
to port.
“Message coming in from Captain Whiteacre on the Lexington, sir,”
Hoffman said from the communications console. “The Romulans
fleet is sufficiently disorganized and is breaking up, but may form into
smaller squadrons. We are heading away from them on a course of
098-mark-25. Request new orders.”
“Advise the Lexington that they should continue to press the attack
while we have the enemy on the run. We’re dispatching the cruiser
Providence and the frigates Mars and Bombay to the Romulans’ last
known position. The Enterprise and the rest of the task force will
remain here as a backup for the attack wing.”
“Aye, sir.”
The entire view screen of the San Francisco-class frigate Mars was
filled with Romulan warships moving in every conceivable direction.
The Lexington and her escorts had done a fine job of putting the
enemy on the defensive, but weapons fire was streaming past the
Starfleet frigate like rain coming from a dozen different directions
simultaneously. Captain Jasiha Welch had to maintain a firm grip on
his command chair to keep from sliding out as the Mars made her way
toward the largest conglomeration of target vessels.
“Multiple targets coming into range, Captain,” Lieutenant
Stevenson called out over his shoulder from the helm. As the Mars
banked to starboard, two swept-wing Romulan U-type cruisers
swung into view, their sterns facing the Federation frigate.
“There’s your target, Mr. Stevenson. Fire at the starboard vessel!”
The forward lasers immediately reached out and pelted the
warship. Its shields flared, but held as the Romulan abruptly turned to
starboard.
“Keep on the target, Alan,” the captain ordered. “We’re not finished
with that one just yet.”
“Tactical report from the Enterprise, Captain,” the communications
officer called out from the cramped bridge.
“Go ahead, Dean.”
“The Lexington group has swung around and is pressing their attack
again. The Romulans appear to be dividing their forces equally,
attempting to maneuver out on two vectors.”
“Advise the Enterprise we’ll be staying with this group. I’m sure
Lexington can handle her own for the time being, but we’ll comply
with whatever Captain Coombs thinks is best.”
“Three enemy destroyers coming around to our stern!” Lieutenant
Commander Jaffe called from the science station.
“Helm, break off pursuit of the Romulan warship. Get us out of
here.”
Banking sharply to port, the Mars spiraled out of the way just in time
as multiple beams of disruptive energy passed through her previous
position.
On the bridge of the frigate Bombay, Commander Daniel
Hippensteel watched as the Mars executed her roll ahead of the three
incoming enemy vessels. Narrowly avoiding the weapons fire, she
was nonetheless struck with another beam from a fourth vessel that
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had entered the fray as well as a fusion missile intended for another
Federation ship. The Mars’s shields were holding, but the Bombay’s
sensors showed that she’d taken damage to one of her fusion
generators. If Hippensteel didn’t act quickly, the Mars’s impulse
engines would be down in no time.
“Mr. Alex, target the Romulan that just fired on the Mars. Let’s see
if we can’t get their attention.”
Quickly pressing the launch sequencer, Lieutenant Eugene Alex
complied. In such close quarters, Alex had taken a chance by forgoing
the targeting computers and had fired on the Romulan manually. He
was silently delighted that all three of his accelerator cannon rounds
impacted against the Romulan’s shields and caused it to veer away
from the Mars.
“Nicely done, Lieutenant,” Hippensteel complimented.
“Communications officer, signal the Enterprise that we’ll continue to
assist the Mars.”
Watching the overall tactical display with growing unrest, Captain
Coombs was trying to formulate a new strategy. That the Romulans
were dividing their forces was without a doubt. Neither of the two
enemy groups appeared to have settled on a final course heading,
with vessels breaking formation with one group and joining the other
in a seemingly random fashion. With targets of opportunity
appearing and disappearing in seconds, it was making orders hard to
disseminate to his people.
What’s more, the Andorian destroyer Plomong had been pulverized
under the combined fire of no less than five Romulan frigates. Mars
had been moderately damaged, and the Lexington had taken three
hits—one of them penetrating her shields and damaging her fighter
bay doors. Until they were repaired, she wouldn’t be able to retrieve
her fighters, all of which were already out of missiles. Thankfully they
were still able to utilize their laser cannons, but any damage to the
fighters’ drive modules would cut their sole remaining weapons off
indefinitely. Coombs desperately needed to regroup his forces, but
the Romulans weren’t about to let up.
However, in a divine moment of providence, Coombs watched the
display in shock as a large portion of the Romulan fleet suddenly
jumped to warp. With the bulk of the Romulans heading quickly out
of the system, only five undamaged enemy cruisers remained to
assist the vessels currently engaged with the distantly separated
Starfleet vessels. Coombs knew that he’d have to move quickly—not
only to ensure that the task force was protected, but also that the
escaping Romulan fleet was tracked.
“Commander Pinkerton, course of the escaping Romulan vessels?”
he quickly shouted.
“They’re at 332-mark-15, sir.”
“Communications, order the destroyer Borgub and the cruiser
Providence to follow the Romulan fleet. I don’t want to let them out
of our sight,” Coombs said, ordering his lone escorts away from the
Enterprise.
“Aye, sir,”
“Helm, it’s time the Enterprise gets into the action. Plot an intercept
course to the Lexington,” he said, pointing at the view screen to the
carrier on that was holding her own against two attacking Romulan
cruisers.
“Yes, sir,” the helmsman said with a wide smile, eager to show the
rest of the task force what the flagship could do.
“Major Broden, are the fighters rearmed and ready to launch?”
“The final one is being readied now, Captain,” the Marine replied.
“As soon as we’re in range, I want them deployed in a V-formation
ahead of the Enterprise. I want to concentrate all our weapons fire on
the vessels attacking the Lexington. Once the carrier has been
secured, we’ll move on to any targets of opportunity. Understood?”
“Perfectly,” the major said, nodding sharply. “I’ll relay the order to
the wing commander now.”
166
Nearing the damaged Lexington, the Enterprise’s fighters quickly
went to work. Firing all their missiles simultaneously, they quickly
decimated the shields on a Cabbage that was taking potshots at the
Lex. Now it was the Enterprise’s turn to earn her name.
Turning slightly to port, the Enterprise pivoted and trained her
immense dual-emitter Type VII laser cannon turret at the nowlimping Romulan vessel. It took a full three seconds for the powerful
but non-combat tested system to charge to full capacity. Then in a
powerful, high-pitched whine, twin beams of destructive energy
raced from the emitters, striking the Romulan dead center and
blowing holes clear through it. At the science console, Commander
Chris Pinkerton reported that all power was down on the enemy
vessel, and that no life signs registered.
“Very well,” Ellis said with measured approval. “Major Broden—
advise the fighter wing we’ll be moving on to our next target. Mr.
Vincent, charge the laser cannons. Our job for the day isn’t done quite
yet.”
“Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said with a nod.
“New sensor report coming in,” Pinkerton said. “The Bombay and
the Voljaz have eliminated their targets. They’re moving in to assist
the frigate Adversary on the far side of the battle area.”
“Communications, send a message to the Adversary: once we’ve
got the situation with the Lexington under control, we’ll move to
assist. Until that time, continue to press the attack against the final
wave of Romulan warships. Once that’s complete, I want everyone to
regroup with us.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Chapter 16
Watching the life-support status monitor for any signs of
stabilization, Captain Matthew Whiteacre’s attention was turned
toward the command chair as the intercom light began to beep and
flash. Stepping down to the lower level of the Lexington’s bridge, he
eagerly opened the intercom channel to engineering. “Bridge here.”
“Hangar deck. Chief Engineer Clucas, sir.”
“Go ahead, Kevin.”
“Just thought you’d like to know that the launch bay doors have
been repaired. We can bring the fighters home at any time.”
Since the battle the day before and the ensuing damage, the
Lexington’s fighter squadron had been forced to take temporary
refuge in the Enterprise. Since the Yorktown class could only hold one
squadron at a time, the fighters and their crews had to be rotated. As
a result, flight operations had been ongoing for nearly twelve hours,
with all the pilots receiving very little rest.
“I’m sure they’re looking forward to coming home,” Whiteacre said
in relief. “Well done.” He then turned to the waiting flight control
officer, Major Newell, and gave the Marine a nod signifying that
fighter recovery should begin immediately.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be moving back to engineering shortly.”
“Life-support readings are still showing fluctuations in several areas
of the ship. Where’s that on your list of things to do?”
“Right behind getting the shield generators back to full strength,
which is my next task.”
“Understood. Keep me apprised. Bridge out.” On the main view
screen, the carrier Enterprise was hanging just off the starboard bow
of the Lexington. Whiteacre watched as the lower hangar doors
opened and the Lexington’s fighters began to disembark. “Mr. Keith—
open a channel to the Enterprise. I’d like to speak to Captain Coombs.”
“Aye, sir. Channel open.” The image on the view screen then
switched to the carrier’s bridge, with Captain Coombs speaking to an
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officer outside the field of view. After a moment, Coombs turned to
face his counterpart on the Lexington.
“Hope I’m not intruding, Captain,” Whiteacre asked with a thin
smile.
Ellis dismissed the comment with a wave. “Not at all, Matt. I was
just going over the revised damage report for the Mars.”
“And?”
“Impulse power restored to full strength. She’s ready to get
underway.”
“Good news,” Matthew said with a nod. “And thanks for taking care
of our fighter wing for the last few hours. I owe you one.”
“Technically you owe me five,” Ellis joked. “One for each fighter.”
Matthew laughed. “At least you’re not charging me by the
crewman. I’d owe you 15.”
Coombs put a finger to his chin in mock contemplation. “I hadn’t
thought of that. Maybe next time.”
“Let’s hope there won’t be a next time.”
“I hear you.”
“And the Romulan Fleet?” Whiteacre asked as he relaxed into the
command chair.
“The Borgub reported in about fifteen minutes ago—still nothing on
their sensors. We’re still waiting on the report from the Providence.
It’s due any minute now.”
“You think we scared the enemy off for good?”
Coombs pursed his lips as he shook his head. “I don’t think so. They
want Deneva, and I don’t think they’re about to give up trying to get
it. Not when they know they still outnumber us.”
“What do you think they’re up to, then?”
“The Romulans know they can’t get through our sensor net without
being detected. That’s going to limit their options. If I were a betting
man, I’d say they’ll come in from the opposite side of the system.”
Matthew nodded. “If you’re intent on sending some ships out that
way, I’d like to volunteer the Lexington. We’ve got a score to settle.”
Coombs smiled weakly. “Understood, Captain. In the meantime, I’d
like the entire task force to fall back along a course toward Deneva.
I’m dispatching a message to Starbase 3 now, advising them of our
change in position.”
“We won’t get a response back for several hours.”
“Exactly my point.” Ellis nodded. “I’m not looking for approval, just
providing them some information.”
“Understood.”
“Once your fighters are back on board, you’re authorized to
proceed to the far end of the Kappa Fornacis system. Keep your
scanners on full. If those Romulans pop up, send out a call to us
immediately. I’ll have the frigate Lagan standing by. I don’t want you
taking them on all by yourself.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Good hunting, Matthew. Enterprise out.”
The voice of Commander Benjamin Chee broke the silence that’d
been lingering on the Providence’s bridge for the last hour. “Captain
Janssens, we’ve got a sensor contact bearing 142-mark-12.”
It’d been nearly ten hours since the Providence had lost contact with
the Romulan fleet she’d been ordered to pursue. Fearing that the
enemy vessels were deploying some type of sensor=jamming
measure, Janssens had ordered the sensors on maximum intensity.
Everything was to be scrutinized, no matter how insignificant. Several
leads had been followed and disregarded since then, but Chee was
going to leave no stone unturned. In anticipation, the captain
sidestepped from the engineering console to the science station to
look over his executive officer’s shoulder. “What do you have, Ben?”
“Multiple ships, sir. Looks like it could be the Romulan fleet.”
“Where’s the Borgub?” Janssens asked as he scanned one of the
readouts for signs of their Federation escort.
“Beyond sensor range, sir.”
“Distance to contact?”
“Not far. About ten minutes from our present position.
Approximate distance from the rest of Task Force 25 is 230 AU’s.”
“Just outside the range of the sensor net we set up,” Janssens
acknowledged with a nod.
170
“Yes, sir.”
“Hmm,” the captain murmured as he weighed his options. “Mr.
Perry,” he began as he turned his head over his right shoulder, “send
a coded message to the Enterprise—possible contact on the Romulan
fleet. Advise them we’re leaving our assigned patrol area to
investigate.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Lieutenant Utter, plot a course for the contact. Full impulse.”
“Another goose chase?” Commander Chee asked in a hushed tone.
Janssens looked back to the screen and to the three green blobs
that only appeared every other sweep. “Whatever it is, we’re going to
find out.”
Checking the sensor display one final time, Commander Chee
turned to see the captain already looking in his direction. “We’re
coming up on it now, sir.”
“Drop to one-quarter impulse, Ray,” Janssens ordered the
helmsman.
“One-quarter impulse, aye.”
“Sensors on full, Ben.”
“Aye, sir. Short-range sensors on full intensity.”
“The contacts you reported earlier?”
“Still visible on the scope, sir. Several Romulan frigates, on the same
bearing as before. Moving away from our position at full impulse.”
“It’s a good bet they’ve seen us,” Janssens acknowledged.
“Very likely, sir.”
“Do we go after them, sir?” Lieutenant Utter asked from the helm.
“I think we can handle a few frigates, Ray. Set a course to intercept
at full impulse. Ben, keep those sensors on a continuous sweep of the
sector. A handful of frigates doesn’t account for the fleet we engaged
yesterday. I don’t want any surprises.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Can we get a visual on the targets?”
“I believe so, sir,” Chee said, then piped the image to the main view
screen. The stern of a single green vessel appeared in the center of
the monitor.
Puzzled, Captain Janssens turned to his science officer. “I thought
you were reading multiple contacts?”
“I am, sir. There are now five distinct vessels on the short-range
sensors, cruising in a tight formation.”
“Sensor malfunction, Mr. Chee?”
“Negative. I’ve checked the computers twice now. The Romulans
may be employing some type of electronic ruse that fools our
sensors.”
“Either way, we’ve got at least one target to deal with.”
“Agreed.”
“Communications . . . Mr. Perry. Transmit our sensor data to the
Enterprise. Tell them we’re going to put a stop to this charade. I don’t
want anyone else chasing after phantasms.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the warship on the screen began to turn, Chee verified the
information with the Providence’s computer. “The Romulan has
altered their course and is coming about. Their shields have gone up.”
“Helm, arm all defensive batteries and raise the shields.”
“Lasers charging, accelerator cannons online. Shields are building
to full strength.”
“Ray, fire the cannons across her bow. Let’s see if we can dissuade
them from making the mistake of attacking a superior vessel.”
“Aye, Captain. Firing.” On the screen, a solitary round from the
accelerator cannon sped across the path of the Romulan. Undeterred,
it continued on its turn until it was facing the Starfleet cruiser.
“Looks like they aren’t going to back down, sir,” Lieutenant Utter
said, his fingers still poised over the firing controls.
“The enemy is charging forward batteries,” Chee announced.
But Janssens wasn’t about to give the Romulan a chance to return
fire. “Very well. Open fire—full barrage.”
“Message coming in the Providence, Captain Coombs.”
172
Ellis turned in his chair to face the communications officer. “Go
ahead, Thomas.”
“They’ve destroyed the Romulan vessel, sir. They’re requesting
further instructions.”
That vessel was just a decoy, to lure our ships away. I’d bet my pension
on it. But lure them away from where? “Commander Pinkerton,” he
asked as he looked to the science officer. “Where’s the Lexington?”
“Moving into position on the far side of Deneva now, sir.”
“Mr. Vincent, put the tactical display back on the main view screen.
Plot the current position of the Lexington in relation to us.” On the
screen, a small blip on the far side of the Kappa Fornacis system
began to blink steadily. “Now plot the position of the Providence.”
Directly opposite the Lexington, another blip lit up. Task Force 25 was
nearly between the two. That’s where they’re going to strike from.
“Lieutenant Hoffman, send this image to the Providence. Order them
to plot a parabolic course, going around both us and the planet
Deneva, and ending at the Lexington’s current coordinates. Tell them
we’re going to head straight for the Lexington at this time.”
“Aye, sir.”
Looking to his executive officer, Coombs offered Pinkerton an
explanation before it was asked for. “The Romulans are going to
attack Deneva from somewhere in the Lexington’s current vicinity.
I’m sure of it. On her current course, the Providence should see them
well before they see us.”
“The Romulans will think that the Lexington and the Providence are
the only vessels in the area.”
Coombs nodded. “And they’ll move in to attack. With luck, the task
force will arrive just as the Romulans move in. We can sweep behind
them and close off their escape route.”
“That’s going to put them dangerously close to the planet,” the
executive officer said wearily.
“I know, but it’s the only way we can get a serious advantage over
their fleet. Our hope is to keep them as far away from it as possible
while we attempt to whittle their numbers down.”
“Agreed.”
Pressing the intercom, Coombs connected his microphone with the
engine room. “Commander Chambers?”
“Chambers here,” the chief responded.
“Carl, I need as much juice as you can feed into the impulse reactors.
The rest of the task force can only move as fast as their slowest ship,
and that’s us under impulse.”
“Understood, sir. I’ll baby these old reactors as much as I can. But
just remember, this is a carrier . . . not a cruiser. If we ask too much of
her she might belly up.”
“Your job is to make sure that doesn’t happen, Chief.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best and then some. Chambers out.”
“Captain Janssens, I’ve got multiple enemy contacts on my
sensors.”
“More phantoms, Commander, or are we looking at the real thing?”
“I can’t tell, sir.”
Paul nodded. “So, we won’t know until we get within visual range?”
“Seems that way, sir.”
“How long?”
“At present course and speed, three minutes.”
They’re that close. Why didn’t we see them before now? “And how
long until we link up with the Lexington and the rest of the task force?”
“Unless they change course to intercept us now, not for another
fifteen minutes.”
“Should I send out a call for backup?” Lieutenant Perry asked from
the communications station.
“Not yet, Tom,” Janssens replied after a moment. “If we’re seeing
more sensor phantoms, we could inadvertently draw our forces from
the enemy’s true attack vector.”
“Then we’re going to chance taking on the whole Romulan fleet all
by ourselves for the second time in the same day,” Benjamin Chee
said with a smirk. “I think that’s going to get some recognition in the
history books.”
174
“Hopefully we’ll be around to read all about it,” Paul said, mimicking
the expression. “Mr. Utter, same as before. Plot an intercept course
for the sensor contacts, full impulse.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Contacts have altered course,” Chee replied in the next instant.
“They are moving to intercept us. ETA, less than two minutes.”
“Well, maybe we should be thankful we don’t have to wait for the
surprise. Communications, send to Enterprise that we’re tracking
another contact.”
“Aye.”
“They’re in visual range now, then?” the captain asked his executive
officer.
Chee nodded without turning from the sensor hood. “Affirmative.
As of right now. Ten contacts total.”
“On screen then, Lieutenant Utter.”
Expecting to see two or three actual Romulans, Captain Janssens
was greeted with nearly thirty vessels filling the main screen. Like the
day before, the large Cabbage cruisers were in the lead of the
formation, with smaller swept-wing frigates and destroyers encircling
them.
“Communications, send to Enterprise—Priority One!” the captain
yelled. “Romulan fleet in this sector. Request immediate assistance!”
“The lead cruisers are opening fire,” Chee called out, gripping the
side of the science console in anticipation of the impact.
“Helm, evasive action! Get us out of here!”
“Confirmed, Captain. Multiple enemy contacts!”
Turning away from his science officer, Captain Coombs ordered the
main screen on. Two swept-wing Romulan warships darted down,
firing with abandon on the lone Starfleet vessel valiantly evading the
incoming fire. From off the screen, two fusion missiles were also
launched at the Providence, but she was evidently not finished with
her impressive array of maneuvers. Quickly spiraling to port, not only
did she skillfully evade the incoming weapons, the Starfleet cruiser
fired her own salvo at a target of opportunity—her lasers burning a
deep gash in a nearby Cabbage as she sailed out of the combat zone.
“Lieutenant Hoffman, order the Lagan and the Bombay to clear
some of the vessels off the Providence’s tail.”
“Yes, sir,” the communications officer replied.
“Mr. Vincent, target the nearest cruiser—laser cannons on full.”
“Locked, sir!”
“Fire main cannons!” The Enterprise’s captain watched as the beams
reached out and converged at a single point on one of the Romulan
frigates. At some point the target’s shields must have already fallen,
because the powerful beams from the Enterprise impacted directly
with the ship’s hull, crumbling the entire forward half of the ship and
sending it spiraling into an enemy destroyer. Both vessels exploded
brilliantly, but a large chunk of debris was ejected directly at the
carrier.
“Evasive action!” Coombs yelled, but it was too late. The impact
sent the entire bridge crew to the deck just as all the lights on the
bridge winked out. Seconds later, the red emergency lights flickered
on the smoke-filled compartment. Getting to his feet, Captain
Coombs helped Lieutenant Vincent back into his tactical station.
Stepping over to the command chair, he opened a channel to
engineering. “Carl, damage report?”
“Primary relays are fried,” the static-lined voice of the chief
engineer called back.
“Weapons offline, sir,” Vincent said as he caught his breath.
“Long-range sensors offline,” Commander Pinkerton added.
“External communications severely degraded,” Hoffman said.
“What’s left?” Coombs asked of anyone who could give him good
news.
“Impulse reactors twenty-percent damaged,” Chambers said over
the intercom. “We’ve still got maneuvering thrusters.”
“Helm, move us out of the combat area, best possible speed. We
can’t afford to take another hit.”
“I’ll try, Captain.”
Feeling the deck plates shudder beneath his feet, Coombs knew
that even at one-quarter impulse they were asking more of the
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Enterprise’s impulse reactors than she wanted to give. “Carl, I need
shields and weapons online as soon as possible.”
“I can give you partial deflectors in about ten minutes or I can give
you weapons, but not both at the same time.”
“What about the laser turret?” Coombs asked, recalling the
technical specifications of the experimental weapons system.
“They’re able to fire a few emergency rounds on battery power
alone.”
Chambers chuckled sarcastically. “I’ve got battery power to spare,
but the turret itself was what was hit. It’s . . . it’s just gone, sir. There’s
collateral damage to the lower decks as well.”
Coombs sighed heavily, his shoulders sinking in despair. “Where the
main relays are. Yes.”
“Coming about slowly, sir. She’s sluggish, but we’re moving outside
the combat area as requested.”
Nodding, Coombs slowly sat back in the command chair.
“Communications, try to contact the Lexington. Advise her of our
condition.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I can see her now, sir,” Pinkerton said as he peered into the sensor
readout. “She’s moving toward a flock of enemy cruisers. She’s
launched fighters and is pressing her attack.”
“What about the rest of our forces?”
“All vessels accounted for except for the frigate Lagan. The Bombay
has taken several direct hits, as has the Adversary.”
“Romulan losses?”
“Based on the initial sensor scans, the Romulans have lost twelve
warships total.”
“We’re getting picked apart out here,” Coombs said. “Hoffman, try
to raise somebody . . . anybody. We need to regroup our forces. We’re
making a strategic withdraw to Sector 2. That should give us ample
time to lick our wounds as well as keep an eye on the Romulans.”
“It’ll also give them time to move a few AU’s closer to Deneva,”
Chris Pinkerton said from the science station, holding a tattered piece
of his sleeve to his forehead to stop a newly formed cut from bleeding
out.
“We’ve got no choice, Chris. If we stay in this fight much longer
there won’t be any of us left to defend Deneva at all. Besides, we’ve
got the faster ships and we’re still almost a full day from the planet.”
Nodding, the executive officer sighed. “Yes, sir.”
178
Chapter 17
On the Lexington’s view screen, the image of Captain Coombs
wavered slightly—a result of the Enterprise’s communications still
being affected from the previous day’s damage.
“Beyond the communication problems, what’s your overall status,
Captain Coombs?”
Coombs looked exhausted—a sentiment expressed by many in Task
Force 25. He’d been up nearly all night as the repairs to the flagship
had taken far longer than speculated. “Weapons systems are still
offline, but life support has stabilized. Long-range sensors are back,
but I don’t know for how long. The chief engineer managed to jury-rig
the main deflector to get them working.”
Whiteacre nodded slowly. “Shields?”
“Sublight deflectors are operational, but physical damage to the
deflector grid means defensive shields will be down until we can reach
a starbase.”
“Anything else Lexington can supply, you name it,” Matthew
offered sincerely.
“Much appreciated, Captain. I think we can manage for now. Do you
have information on the location of the Romulan forces?”
“Yes, sir,” Whiteacre nodded. “That’s the other reason I called over.
We just received word from the Providence that the Romulans have
apparently tucked tail.”
“They’re abandoning their planned attack on Deneva, then?”
“It seems that way. They’re heading back in the direction of
Cheron.”
Coombs pursed his lips. There’d been rumors circulating that the
Romulans were operating from a secret base near Cheron. Every
attempt to get close to the system was met with failure, resulting in
either the loss of launched probes or in personnel. “How far away is
the Providence at this time?”
“Just under six hours at warp three, sir. She’s trailing the Romulans
at a distance of about two AU’s.”
“I’m not interested in allowing the enemy the time they need to get
back to their base, Captain.”
Whiteacre couldn’t agree more. “Understood. What are your
orders?”
“The frigate Bombay relayed a communication from Starbase 3 an
hour ago. Task Force 12 isn’t far away. I want to order them to
intercept the Romulan fleet with us. At their present course and
speed, we should all arrive at the same time.”
“We could use the help,” Whiteacre approved. “Our forces are
outnumbered as it is.”
“I want you to contact Commodore Linden in Task Force 12
personally, Captain Whiteacre. Advise her that the Lexington will be
leading our attack force, with Enterprise coordinating from a safe
distance. Once Task Force 25 is within ship-to-ship range of Task
Force 12, Enterprise will provide further instructions to the fleet.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Once you’ve sent the message to Linden, begin making
preparations for getting underway. I want to warp out of this location
by 1000 hours.”
“Understood, Captain. Lexington out.”
Watching the sensor screen closely, Commander Bob Griffing
quickly notified Captain Whiteacre that the Romulans had suddenly
dropped out of warp.
“Are they altering course?”
“Negative, sir,” the science officer reported. “They’ve slowed to
sublight and are coming about.”
“Lieutenant Knight?” Matthew asked as he looked to his tactical
officer.
“Sensors are showing power buildups in the Romulan vessels. Looks
like they’re intent on engaging us.”
“They knew we were gaining on them,” Whiteacre said to himself.
180
“About ten minutes, sir,” the tactical officer replied.
“Bob, where’s Task Force 12?”
“At their present speed, they’ll intercept the Romulans at nearly the
same time we do.”
“Lieutenant Keith, send a message to the Enterprise and advise
them we’re going to engage the Romulan fleet.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Major Newell, order all pilots to their fighters and to prepare for
immediate launch.”
“Aye, sir,” the flight control officer responded.
“Captain Coombs, Task Force 12 has entered the sector.”
“Understood, Mr. Pinkerton. Communications officer, send to
Commodore Linden—attack all targets of opportunity. No
coordination with our forces is required.”
“Transmitting now, sir,” Lieutenant Hoffman answered.
“Sir, the Romulans have moved into a phalanx formation,”
Lieutenant Commander Vincent advised from the tactical station.
“With the arrival of Commodore Linden’s forces, the Romulan
commander knows he’s both outmatched and outgunned,” Coombs
said as he studied the tactical plot on the main viewer. “He’s going to
make a last stand. Mr. Keith, advise all starships to remain cautious.
There’s nothing more dangerous than a cornered animal.”
With the carrier Lexington in the lead, Captain Coombs watched as
the seven starships of Task Force 25 swooped toward the regrouping
Romulan forces. Before they were in weapons range, four of the
Cabbage cruisers coordinated a missile barrage against a single
Starfleet vessel. Sixteen fusion missiles fired simultaneously, all
striking the Andorian frigate Voljaz, and quickly blew it to pieces. As
the Starfleet vessels opened fire with everything they had, a second
barrage—this one aimed at the Tellarite frigate Adversary—met with
similar results.
But the elements of the First Combined fleet were taking their own
toll on the enemy fleet. Under sustained laser fire from the Lexington,
Providence, and Bombay, three Romulan cruisers were pummeled
into submission. The Minotaur fighters from both the Lexington and
Enterprise had singled out a swept-wing cruiser and were busily
picking it apart piece by piece until it was little more than a flaming
hulk.
Three more Cabbage cruisers—along with several frigates—
coordinated another attack, this time on the Andorian destroyer
Borgub. Executing a skillful set of maneuvers, the destroyer was able
to avoid the majority of missiles. However, she was struck at least
three times, and when her impulse engines were damaged, she
became an easy target for two frigates. Instead of firing on the
stricken Federation vessel, the Romulans opted instead to simply ram
it at full speed. The resultant explosion vaporized all three ships.
As Captain Coombs watched the unfolding battle on the main
viewer, one thing was painfully clear—the Romulans actions were
becoming desperate. And when Task Force 12 moved in to close off
any route of escape the Romulans might have had, he knew it was
only a matter of time before they surrendered.
The fifteen starships of Task Force 12, under the skillful leadership
of Commodore Linden, worked in concert with one another
beautifully. Without sustaining a single loss, the entire force acted as
one, and using sustained laser barrages, obliterated or incapacitated
nearly half the Romulan warships in their first pass.
Following their wave of destruction, the frigate Bombay—with one
of her warp nacelles damaged and venting plasma—swung in a
perfect arc and fired her last remaining missiles at a stray enemy
frigate. The Romulan countered with a well-timed hard turn to
starboard, but the maneuver would be his last. As he moved directly
into the frigate Mars’s line of fire, Captain Welch and his crew did an
expert job at dissecting the enemy vessel.
Swinging around from their first attack, Coombs watched as
Commodore Linden’s flagship, the cruiser Excelsior, made a bold
move toward a handful of the last Romulan Cabbage cruisers. One of
the Romulans managed to fire on the commodore’s flagship, but the
lasers were easily absorbed by the cruiser’s shields. Responding in
182
kind, the Excelsior fired everything in her arsenal, destroying one
cruiser and damaging another before she turned to starboard and
sailed out of the immediate combat area.
Now, with only a half-dozen Romulans remaining, Captain Coombs
decided enough was enough. “Lieutenant Hoffman, send out a
message to the fleet—order them to englobe the remaining Romulan
vessels. Let’s see if they’re willing to talk.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Sir, we’re registering more explosions,” Commander Pinkerton
said in puzzlement.
“A problem, Commander?”
“It’s not from weapons fire.”
Turning back to the tactical display, Coombs watched as—one by
one—the remaining Romulan ships exploded.
“Looks like they’re self-destructing,” Pinkerton replied.
“Suicide over capture,” Coombs said in disgust.
“The Romulan way,” Commander Vincent said from the tactical
station with equal displeasure as the last Romulan cruiser winked off
the display. “I’d sure like to have gotten a hold of a few of them.”
“Maybe next time,” Coombs replied evenly. “For now, we’ve got
other problems to deal with,” he said in reference to their own
crippled fleet.
“Message coming in from Commodore Linden.”
“Put her on the screen please, Mr. Hoffman.” With Enterprise’s
communications array still only partially functioning, the static-lined
image of Commodore Sofia Linden took a handful of seconds to
solidify.
“Captain Coombs, it’s good to see you again.”
“Commodore,” Ellis replied to the fair-haired flag officer with a nod.
“Well done out here today, ma’am.”
“My congratulations to your people as well, Captain, and my
condolences on the loss of some of your crews.”
“Thank you, Commodore,” he said with a hint of sorrow. “We can
discuss it later. For now, we’ve got some damaged vessels still out
there, and I want to make sure each and every one of their crews gets
home safely.”
“Understood,” she said firmly. “I’ll get some damage repair parties
beamed over to them shortly. If we can’t repair them, Task Force 12
will take their crews aboard and get the vessels under tow.”
“Any assistance you can provide will be much appreciated,
Commodore.”
“Don’t mention it, Captain.”
“The Enterprise is still some distance from the battle field. We’ll get
underway immediately and rendezvous with the Excelsior.”
“Understood, Captain Coombs. I’ll wait until after your briefing
before I transmit the report of this engagement to Starbase 3. Again,
well done, Captain. Don’t be half-surprised if you’ve got a promotion
waiting for you when we get back home.”
Coombs cast his eyes to the deck, then looked quickly across the
tired faces and battle-scarred bridge of the Enterprise. “I’ll settle on
promotions and commendations for everyone involved in this over
the last few days, especially those who aren’t going to be there to
receive them.”
“Agreed,” Sofia said with a deep understanding. “Excelsior will be
ready to receive you when you arrive, Captain. Linden out.”
Stardate 15605.05
April 2156
Standing at the wide view port afforded to her office, Admiral Erin
Grooms watched as the last handful of vessels from Task Force 25
moved into position at Starbase 3. She didn’t need to discern their hull
numbers to know which ships they were. Erin had been keeping tabs
on every starship engaged in the Battle of Hell’s Gate since they
began their return trip home. These final three cruisers, with the
battle-tested carrier Enterprise in the lead, marked the last of the
survivors.
While the cruisers made their way to the outer docking arms of the
station, the Enterprise made her way toward the center of the
starbase, where she’d be moored alongside her sister ship, the
equally worse-for-wear Lexington, and the newly christened
Yorktown.
184
Even now the Yorktown was preparing to get underway, tasked with
taking up command of the relief fleet sent to ensure Hell’s Gate
stayed in Federation hands. Where the Enterprise and the Lexington’s
hulls were burnt, battered, and scarred, the Yorktown was coated in
factory-fresh markings, her exterior lights twinkled, and a well-rested
crew manned her every station. When the Enterprise was at last
locked onto the station and her damaged warp nacelles began to
power down, Erin had the distinct impression that she was looking at
two sides of the same coin.
A voice called from her desktop intercom. It was her yeoman.
“Admiral, Captain Coombs is signaling. The Enterprise has finished
docking maneuvers and he will be here shortly.”
The heels of her boots clicked against the highly polished floor of
her office as she made her way to her desk. “Advise Captain Coombs
that Captain Whiteacre and I will meet them on the quarterdeck of
the Enterprise.”
“Ma’am?” the ensign asked in confusion, but quickly realized his
fault. “Yes, Admiral. Right away.”
Closing the channel, she opened another to Captain Whiteacre on
the Lexington.
“Yes, Admiral?” Whiteacre replied somewhat out of breath.
“Catch you at a bad time, Matthew?”
The captain chuckled. “No, ma’am. Just had something of a
disagreement with a particular panel that a few crewmen and I were
trying to pry loose.”
“Did you win?” she asked.
“Honestly, I think it was a draw. It came down, but right on my chief
engineer’s foot. He’ll be in sickbay the better part of the day, which is
far from ideal. We’ve got more than our fair share of damage to repair
over here, to say nothing about getting the hot-water supply working
again or even stabilizing life support.”
“Understood, Captain. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to pull you
from your repairs for a short while.”
There was a silence before Matthew spoke up. “Enterprise?”
“She’s just finished docking. I thought you’d like to know.”
“You have no idea, Admiral.”
“Captain Coombs will be expecting us shortly. Are you . . .
presentable?”
“No, and with all due respect, I wouldn’t like to be. Ellis is bound to
be in as bad a shape as I am, so it’ll just make him feel all the more
uncomfortable if you and I both show up in full dress.”
Erin pondered it for a moment, then found herself in full agreement.
Suddenly feeling a little overdressed, she decided to change into her
working uniform before meeting up with Captain Whiteacre. “I’ll
meet you in docking area five in ten minutes, then?”
“Perfect, Admiral. I’ll be there.”
Even though Erin and Matthew hadn’t made it passed the
quarterdeck, it was plain to see that the Enterprise had seen her share
of damage. Emergency panels were welded in strategic locations,
giving added strength to the older bulkheads not designed to take the
amount of damage that could be dealt by modern weaponry. One of
the three corridors branching out from the air lock was cordoned off
completely, the result of a hull breach in that section that had yet to
be repaired. As the two officers continued to examine the damage, a
very exhausted Captain Coombs entered the compartment.
“Admiral Grooms,” he began as he exchanged a handshake with
her, then turned to Captain Whiteacre. Glad to see his old friend, he
smiled widely and Matthew returned the grin. “Matthew, it’s good to
see you.”
“You too, Ellis,” he replied, then motioned to the captain’s soiled
uniform. “I see we’re in good company.”
Ellis chuckled. “Deck 4 was damaged in the battle. A number of hull
ruptures occurred, including one near my stateroom. This isn’t just
the best uniform I’ve got—it’s the only one.”
“I think we’ll skip the uniform inspection for the time being,” Erin
replied kindly.
“Admiral,” Ellis said, bowing his head in approval. “If you’ll follow
me, I’ll show you to the nearest briefing room.”
Traversing a handful of passageways that’d been recently cleared of
debris, the trio made their way through the innards of the carrier to
arrive at their final destination. Stepping inside, Erin noted that one
of the two large status monitors in the compartment had toppled.
186
The frame—devoid of its screen—was leaning against the forward
bulkhead where it’d once been hung, its circuity exposed for all to see.
The rest of the compartment seemed undamaged. Ellis stepped to
the remaining monitor and accessed the main damage control
systems display.
“As you can see, we’ve taken a lot of damage from what should have
been relatively light attacks. The new shield generators installed
helped substantially, but the new warp configuration made it
extremely difficult to allocate the massive amounts of power they
needed while we tried to maintain battle readiness and fighter
operations simultaneously.”
Captain Whiteacre examined the screen, which could have easily
been that of the Lexington. “We were little different,” he added.
“After the first few hits, we were left switching between one system
and the other, often times with disastrous results.”
Admiral Grooms looked at him, but it was Ellis who spoke. “It’s the
older power conduits leading from the fusion generators . . . not to
mention the older relays on decks 12 and 13. They were designed to
handle a steady flow of power, not a constantly changing amount of
it. After about a half-dozen cycles they began to give out.”
“A design flaw in the upgrades?” she asked.
“No,” Matthew replied, still scrutinizing the readout. “At least, I
don’t think so.”
“Nor do I, Admiral,” Ellis agreed. “I think the problem is simply that
we pressed these old hulls into service, upgrading everything we
thought was necessary to fight the Romulans, but we may have
overlooked a few things.” Smiling, he turned back to the display. “I
don’t fault the refit engineers one iota, so please don’t think
otherwise.”
“The Lexington is in just as bad shape as the Enterprise,” Matthew
said. “And now we’re sending out the Yorktown to take up station at
Hell’s Gate.”
“I understand she’s a newer refit,” Ellis agreed, “but I can’t believe
she’s going to hold up much better than either the Enterprise or the
Lexington did if she comes under protracted attack.”
Knowing the history of the Yorktown’s refit better than most, Erin
was forced to agree. The Yorktown was indeed a new refit, redesigned
with the lessons learned since the conflict with the Romulans had
begun. But many of the features she was outfitted with that had not
been included in either the Enterprise or the Lexington were minimal.
“Captains, your two carriers are the first to see major combat with the
enemy. Starfleet Command is going to take your reports as gospel. If
you think there are inherit flaws that need to be addressed, I suggest
we make them known as soon as possible. Resources are scarce at
best, so we can’t count on any new hull designs coming out of the
yards for at least the next twelve to eighteen months. We’re going to
need to make sure our existing hulls are up to the challenge.”
Ellis nodded. “I’ve got one heck of a crew under my command here,
Admiral, and I’ve no doubt Matthew would say the same for himself.
Using the best personnel and materials at hand, we were barely able
to make it out of Hell’s Gate. We may be asking too much from these
older classes.”
“I understand your concerns, gentlemen. However, for now, we’re
going to have to make do with what we have. And that means getting
the Enterprise and the Lexington back up to fully operational status as
soon as possible. I’ve allocated two of our six dry docks to that task,
and you’ll have equal priority. Whatever either of you need—or think
you might need to increase your chances of survival—bring it to me
personally. I’ll do what I can.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the two men said in unison.
“In the meantime, I’d like both of your crews to get some rest.
Maintain a minimal watch presence on your vessels. That’ll give
everyone time enough to relax without them being in the way of the
repair crews I’m already amassing to swarm over your ships. Fleet
Captain Mark Garland is here from Starfleet Tactical Command. I’m
sure he’ll want to hear reports from both of you as soon as possible.
Get cleaned up, gather whatever materials you need, and see him as
soon as possible while the memories are still fresh.”
“Aye, ma’am,” they replied.
“Once you’ve both met with Fleet Captain Garland, let me know.
There’s a banquet planned for all of the returning vessel
commanders. As much as either of you may not care for it, you two
188
are guests of honor, so I’ll need you at my side.” She turned away from
the damage control monitor and looked to Ellis and Matthew. “Think
of it less as a celebration and more of a memorial for those that didn’t
make it back. I know that each of you will understand.”
Ellis and Matthew looked at one another and nodded somberly.
There were more than a few mutual friends who wouldn’t be present,
and both silently vowed that their fallen comrades would be given
due praise for their deeds done.

The Romulan War, Volume I - Jolly Rogers Productions

Transcription

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